


PRODUCT/(white+dream)

by theficisalie



Series: Runaway Scars [8]
Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theficisalie/pseuds/theficisalie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Killjoys would cross the desert a hundred times over to save Grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	PRODUCT/(white+dream)

**Author's Note:**

> Follows the plot as put forth in ["Sing"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NgGo4WTseOQ).
> 
> beta: [kazzbot](http://kazzbot.livejournal.com) \+ extra thanks to [](http://inabathrobe.livejournal.com)

**Chapter 1**

Frank was sick of sitting.

He’d only really been conscious for about a day now, but the monotony of driving through the desert with nothing to do was getting on his fucking nerves. He couldn’t sit still; he kept twitching and adjusting his position and rolling his head on his shoulders to stretch his neck. He had _nothing_ to do. Everyone else was otherwise occupied: Gerard with the radio cranked and driving, Mikey with keeping time with them and the white van on his motorcycle, and the only thing Frank could do was watch Ray write a letter to Grace.

After it took him about a billion fucking years to write a word, Frank snapped a little. “You write so slow, you huge fucking idiot. It’s like watching a snail cross the zones, christ.” The words hurt the injured side of his mouth, but he felt so cooped up in the stupid Trans AM that he wanted someone to punch him right in the face.

Ray just glared at him with his one eye, which was disappointing. Only half a glare, really. “You’re a jackass,” he muttered, returning to the page.

Not that Ray was a super violent person or anything, but Frank kind of wished that the curly-haired man would snap right back. Instead, he just put his pen back onto the page and kept writing.

Frank leaned over, eyes narrowed. “ _Tell him that reading over people’s shoulders is rude, and_ \-- hey.”

Ray snorted. “Fuck off, Frank.”

“You shouldn’t even be writing this letter,” Frank muttered, slouching back in his corner. “Grace is alive, man.”

Ray shrugged minutely. “Maybe,” he said. “But even if she is, who’s to say we will be when we get her back out in the desert?”

“We did it once, we can do it again,” Frank muttered. “We don’t even know where she is, she might be out here, you know.”

“D said something about another DJ,” Gerard piped up from the front. “The sexy monkey or something.”

“Hot Chimp,” Frank corrected.

“Yeah,” Gerard said. One of his hands came off the wheel and he moved it away from him, palm up. A gesture that probably meant _I’m glad you know what I’m saying_ and _He runs an underground radio station and he collects BLI transmissions._ But this was Gerard, so, really, who knew.

“How do we find this guy?” Frank asked, sitting up a bit. “I mean, I don’t know a ton about primates or whatever, and I’ve only really heard talk of this guy. I don’t know where he is.”

“I thought the only renegade news stations were D and News. This DJ guy is new. I mean, I think D said that only wolves know where he is, and I’m not a fucking wolf,” Gerard said.

“What, and you think I am?” Frank asked, snapping a bit louder than he’d meant to. “Are you trying to accuse me of something? I thought we were done with that.”

“I’m just saying _I’m_ not, motherfucker,” Gerard snapped back. He lifted his eyes up from the road long enough to glare at Frank in the mirror.

Frank glared right back. “Why’d you emphasize the I then, huh? You know I’m not a fucking sleeper agent, you said you believed me.” He was pretty sure there was still some lingering mistrust in Gerard’s eyes, but that might have just been the lighting.

“Fucker, I don’t care what you are,” Gerard said. “Wolf, cat, gas ghoul, I don’t fucking care. I just said I’m not a dog, I don’t know what the fuck’s all in their territory. They stay the fuck away from us and that’s the way I like it.”

“But me, I know some stuff about this guy, so what the fuck does that make me, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ray interrupted, punching Frank in the shoulder. Frank moved away from the pain, hissing through his teeth. Fucking _finally_. “Gerard isn’t accusing you of anything, dipshit. We know you’re with us so stop jabbering. And we’re almost there, so you can stop with the leg bounces and the fuck-may-care attitude. You can run around in a few minutes. Shit, it’s like you _are_ a fucking wolf pup, honest to the fucking Miranda.”

“The hell’s a Miranda,” Frank muttered, rubbing his shoulder once before he punched Ray back.

“Ancient custom,” Gerard said. The line of his mouth was tense. “Right to free speech and representation in court. Court,” he said, interrupting Frank’s aborted fish-mouth which had been about to ask what this court thing was, “was where the government would let you stand up for yourself if you were accused of committing a crime, in front of a jury of your peers and citizens.”

Frank barked out a laugh, wincing momentarily when the action made his mouth stretch too far. “Holy shit, are you serious? They used to let you stand up for yourself? They didn’t just...” He snapped his mouth shut suddenly and sat back. The urge to jiggle his leg up and down until it annoyed Ray to his breaking point had vanished with the images parading through his head.

“Just what?” Gerard asked.

“Nothing,” Frank said, trying to keep his face as composed as possible. “You, uh, said we’re almost there, right?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Gerard said.

“I’m not, I’m just asking,” Frank muttered.

“Are too. I was talking about the Miranda rights and then you said something about ‘they just’, and I’m guessing you’re talking about BLI or Scarecrow, and then you stopped talking and asked if we were almost at the mailbox.”

Fuck Gerard and his fucking selective memory. He couldn’t remember to wash his clothes once in a while but he remembered this? Frank looked out the window, resolved not to say anything more. “It’s nothing, can we just drop it?”

“We need to know everything we can about BLI if they’re the ones that have Grace,” Gerard said.

Great. Guilt. Just what Frank needed. “Fuck off,” he said, trying to imbue his voice with as much warning as he could.

“What? What don’t they ‘just’?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Frank said, dancing his fingers over the raised edges of his scar. He could feel it from the inside of his mouth too, could run his tongue over the harsh line. Mikey’d told him it would disappear in a little while because the mouth healed fast or some shit like that, but that the mark outside would last for a long time. It wouldn’t be the only one BLI had given him. He heard Gerard draw in a quick breath like he was about to say something and curled his hand into a fist. “Seriously, shut the fuck up,” he said. “Don’t fucking push this, Gerard.”

“You never fucking tell us anything,” Gerard said, hitting the flat of his palm against the steering wheel. “It’s like you don’t trust us, even after all these years, Frank. What the fuck am I supposed to do, just let this lie?”

“Are you saying that you don’t trust me?” Frank asked, sitting up straight.

“We just went over this, fuck,” Gerard snapped, eyes sparking in the mirror. “I fucking trust you, alright?”

“Then just let it go!” Frank shouted, winding his arm back and punching the back of Gerard’s headrest.

“Why don’t _you_ just let it go and tell us?” Gerard asked. Frank slammed his fist into the back of Gerard’s seat again and Gerard snarled. “Don’t make me pull this car over, ‘cause I fucking will!”

“Good!” Frank shouted. “Do it! Kick me out of the car! I don’t even fucking care!”

“I’ll do it!” Gerard snapped. “If you don’t shut up and tell us what the fuck is wrong with you! Don’t fucking test me, Frank.”

“What the fuck are you, my dad?” Frank shouted. “Back the fuck off!”

“Fine!” Gerard snapped. “Don’t say I didn’t fucking warn you!” He slammed on the breaks in the next second, and Frank had just enough time to brace himself before the vehicle skidded to a halt.

The second they were stopped, Frank wrenched the door open and jumped out of the car. So they wanted him gone, fine. He’d walk away. There wasn’t anything out in this part of the zones but if he went South-East for a few hours he’d probably be able to find shelter with one of the gangs that ran the Nitro hills.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Gerard yelled from behind Frank. He could hear the sounds of Gerard struggling with the car door above his muffled cursing. “Come back here and face your problems like a fucking adult, Frank!”

Frank ignored him and kept walking. He had a gun and protection from the sun; he’d survived with less. He didn’t need fire-hair, one-eye and the fucking weed on a bike to help him live. Fuck, any gang would probably take him in without asking any questions and he could just roam the desert, shooting anyone who crossed him.

He made it a good five feet before something hit him in the back, _hard_ , and he went down like a stone, Gerard’s arms around his neck. He tried to cushion his fall with his arms but Gerard pushed them out of the way, grinding his face into the sand.

“What the fuck!” Frank spat, when Gerard yanked his arms up behind his back.

“Are you going to get back in the car or am I gonna have to ground you,” Gerard growled in his ear.

Frank struggled against the pressure on his arm and back. Gerard was fucking _sitting_ on him, what the hell. “Get your fat ass off me,” he said, wincing when Gerard yanked up on his arm.

“Not unless you get back in the car,” Gerard said, driving his elbow into Frank’s shoulderblade and squeezing his thighs together when Frank struggled again.

“Get off,” Frank spat, coughing when Gerard put a hand on the side of his face and pushed it further into the dirt. “Get the fuck off!”

“You get your ass back in that car and talk to us like a motherfucking adult, you ungrateful little fuck,” He pulled his hand away from Frank’s head, and Frank was about to move it when Gerard’s hand connected with the back of his skull.

“Ow, motherfucker! You’re not my fucking dad already!” Frank yelled, wrenching his arm away from Gerard’s grip and bucking up. Gerard was heavy was the problem, but Frank had fought bigger opponents. “Get the hell off me,” he snapped, pushing Gerard away from him and scrambling to his feet.

Gerard grabbed the front of Frank’s vest and slapped him right across the bad side of his face. The loud _smack_ made Frank’s mouth drop open and he staggered back a few paces, rubbing the side of his face gingerly. 

“That _hurt_!” he shouted.

“Then hit me back!” Gerard yelled. “Or can your fucking pansy-ass BLI training not stand up to a real fucking fight?”

Frank saw red and charged at Gerard before he could think about what he was doing. His fist connected with the taller man’s jaw with a satisfyingly loud sound. Gerard didn’t pause, he just grabbed at Frank’s waist, grappling with him to try and push him over again. But Frank was ready this time. He planted his feet in the dirt and twisted around, ramming his elbow into the back of Gerard’s neck, sending him to the desert floor. He was about to step away when Gerard reached out, grabbing Frank’s leg and dug his fingers into the sensitive skin behind Frank’s knee, pulling him down to the ground with him. 

Frank’s forehead connected with the top of Gerard’s head when he toppled over and they both rolled away from each other, each trying to get to their feet first. Frank won by half a second and launched himself at Gerard, shoulder first, driving the wind out of him even as he tackled him. Frank snarled and climbed on top of Gerard, punching him right in the nose until the man turned his face away, hands clawing at Frank to try and push him off, probably.

But Gerard had wanted a fight, and he had wanted it with _Frank_ , and Frank was going to fucking give it to him. He pulled back to hit Gerard again but the man had learned a few tricks out in the desert. A hand on the front of his vest pulled him forward and Gerard slammed his head into Frank’s face, pushing them apart when Frank slapped his hands over his nose.

That was _it_. He fought the instinct to squeeze his eyes shut and ducked when Gerard’s fist swung wildly over his head. Using the motion and his subsequent height, he punched Gerard in the stomach and the man doubled over, wheezing.

He was about to slam Gerard’s head into his knee when hands wrapped around his arms and pulled him away, too far to hit, too far to do anything. He struggled against whoever was holding him, but those big arms were wrapped around his chest, holding him in place. Mikey was behind Gerard, holding him back, but he was just a blur of red in the corner of Frank’s vision.

“Fuck you!” Frank shouted, trying his damndest to pull away from Ray. He arched his back and pushed with his arms but Ray just lifted Frank off the ground like he was nothing. Frank spat on the ground and didn’t bother to think about the fact that his saliva shone bright red against the dust of the ground.

“No!” Gerard yelled back, eyes wide. There was just a touch of fear in them, and Frank spat again, still breathing quickly as he tried to make Ray put him down. “Fuck you. What the fuck was that? Don’t you trust me and fucking, what the motherfucking fuck, Fr-- Ghoul?”

“You can’t just fucking let things go, can you?” Frank shouted. “Fuck, would you let me go?”

“No,” Ray said, voice flat.

“Fuck you, fuck all of you,” Frank snapped, twisting his upper torso and grinding the point of his shoulder into Ray’s bicep. The man just tightened his arms around Frank. “None of you can just leave me alone, that’s all I fucking want. I don’t ask about your with withdrawal or your shit with fucking BLI, do I?”

“This isn’t even about that!” Gerard snapped. “This is about you not trusting us, Ghoul, what the hell? We’ve been together for four years and, what, you can’t even tell us what happened to make you so fucking mad at everyone!” Mikey must have let him go because with a few steps he was up in Frank’s face, blood dripping from his nose and the beginning stages of a bruise forming on his jaw.

“We fucking care about you, and don’t you dare laugh, you little shit,” he snarled. “Do you have any idea how worried we all were, how worried _I_ was, after that Blackbird cut your fucking face up? He was just holding you up by your _head_ and you were _unconscious_ and then you slept for days and I was worried the whole fucking time! And now you’re awake and you just skipped off and took down a whole crew of Crows and Dracs _by yourself_ and you won’t even _talk_ to us! You’re just-- you’re being stupid and angry and fucking ungrateful for everything we do for you and you still think we don’t fucking care about you and I’m sick of it!”

He was panting now, and he ground his teeth together and stepped back, one of Mikey’s hands resting gently on his shoulder. “I’m so fucking sick of you acting like we won’t treat you like a human being if you tell us what those assholes did to you,” he said, voice lower, almost too low. “And I can’t...you keep running away from all of us, from _me_ and I can’t take it any more. That’s why I want to know what happened to you, Ghoul, so stop thinking that we’re all against you. We’re not going to chuck you out on your ass if you tell us.”

“We all kind of like you,” Mikey said. He was still wearing his helmet and he hadn’t bothered to flip up the visor, so his voice was muffled but still comprehensible. Frank didn’t need to see his stupid face to know that he didn’t really have any expression anyway. “You know, even though you’re a class A idiot and shit.”

“I’m going to put you down now,” Ray said, “Don’t kill anyone.”

Frank hunched his shoulders together when he touched down. His hair was shedding sand into his face, but he ignored it in favour of wringing his hands in front of him. Now that the fight-for-your-life adrenaline was leaving his system, his knuckles were starting to hurt. He opened his mouth to maybe mumble an apology but Gerard held up his hand.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, voice low. “Just, you can fucking trust us with your secrets, okay?”

“But we’re about to walk right back into their hands,” Frank whispered, watching as Gerard stepped closer. “Knowing shit about me isn’t going to help you, wherever we’re headed. If they’re there...”

“But if they already know who you are, why shouldn’t we?” Gerard asked.

“It isn’t that,” Frank muttered. “It just...it still hurts, okay? Every day, I wake up and I remember everything that happened to me when they...when...” He pressed his lips together and huffed out a breath.

“When they took you,” Gerard said, reaching a hand up to trace the edges of the scorpion on Frank’s neck. On the other side, he knew, was a pair of scissors wrapped around a ribbon that was never supposed to be cut.

“It’s under my skin, Gee,” Frank whispered. “I can’t get rid of it. We keep going back and my whole life is still back there, trapped in one of their databases. It’s hard to talk about.”

Gerard dropped his hand and took Frank’s wrist, thumb brushing over the words inscribed on his skin in bright red. “Maybe after we get Grace, you can tell us all what BLI did to you.”

“The censored version, please,” Ray said.

Frank started at the sound of his voice. He’d forgotten about the others standing there. “Uh, yeah. Yes. I can do that,” he said. “Fuck. Grace, the van, and the mailbox, Jet, I’m...”

“Save it, short stuff,” Ray said. “The van came circling back to find us a few minutes ago. I get this feeling like we’re going to be just fine.”

The even scrape of roller skates on the pavement reached their ears a bit before Show Pony did. The man flipped up the visor on his helmet and looked at them all in turn. “Okay,” he said, eyes narrowing at Frank and then Gerard. “What the fuck happened here?”

“He started it,” Frank said, pointing at Gerard.

“What, I did not!” Gerard spluttered, eyes wide.

“Yeah, he did,” Ray said. “He sat his chunky ass right on Ghoul’s back.”

“I’m not _chunky_ ,” Gerard said, face red as he folded his arms across his chest. “I’m voluptuous.”

“Right,” Ray said, rolling his eyes.

Gerard grumbled something under his breath and Frank sidled over, sliding a hand into the back pocket of Gerard’s jeans. “I like that you’ve got some junk in your trunk,” he said.

“Fuck you,” Gerard muttered, but he tucked a strand of red hair behind his ear and definitely didn’t smile even a little.

“Aw, y’all are so cute,” Tommy said, grin gleaming as she walked up to their group behind Dr. D. “I just wanna bake you in a pie and eat you right up.”

“Some kind of nasty-ass pie that’d be,” Show muttered, but he skated back a few paces when D looked up at him.

“By the state of your faces, I take it you lot figured out your differences?” D asked, chuckling when Frank grumbled. “Gonna go out on a limb here, but would I be right to guess that you wanna snake your own trail around the zones instead of following the ass of our van?”

“We need to find Grace,” Ray said, exchanging a look with Gerard. “We don’t know where she is or...well, we know Korse has her, but she could be anywhere.”

“I get you,” D said. “Show, pass me the lightbright, would you?” He waited until Show was skating back to the van before he folded his hands in front of him. “Got a bit of tech off a grimalkin in the twos a while back, she said it might come in handy. Problem is, the flashy dot winds around the Hills and spits you out right near Wolfblood, and we never had any reason to stop in howler country before.”

Show came back, the blue light map in his hands. “You’re sending them to the twins?” he asked.

“Little bit further than that,” D said. “I think they’re gonna want to pay the ape a visit.”

“And we’re not going along?” Tommy asked, pouting out her lower lip. “Why not, D? You know I love that hairy bastard.”

“We’ve got a dam to check out, Tommy,” D said. “We’ll get round there soon enough, I’d wager.”

“Parting ways so soon, I’m gonna be sad for four miles,” she said, sighing. “It was nice, having more girls in the gang for once.”

“Hey!” Frank said, scowling.

“Oh, I’m just kiddin, sugars,” Tommy said. “You’re just too much fun.”

“Problem is, you don’t have a motor ve-hicle with a sat-track in it,” D said, clearing his throat. Tommy tossed her head so her bangs were out of her face but closed her mouth. “So you gotta go manual. Find the dot, see, and round the dot somewhere should be a pair of twins. They call themselves JJ and they’re right smack in the middle of the nastiest territory you’ll ever see. Drac hunters by day, coyote hunters by night, I’d watch your backs if I was you. They like us but that’s cause we bring ‘em shinies to play with.”

“They like to hide,” Show said. “We’ll send out word you’re coming but I’d wager on them finding you before it gets the other way around.”

“JJ,” Gerard said. “Got it.” He nodded to Mikey, who reached past Ray to take the map from D.

“And DJ Hot Chimp or whatever, they’ll know how to find Grace?” Ray asked.

“Yeah,” D said. “You can find a monkey in a desert, you can do just about anything. Know what I’m saying?”

Gerard nodded. “Yeah. Thanks, D. Show. Tommy.”

“Our pleasure,” D said. “You bring back lil’ curly hair safe and sound. Give us a shout when you’re goin in, we’ll be glad to be your seconds. Little ones are our future, we gotta keep ‘em in one piece.”

“See you before never,” Tommy said, tipping an imaginary hat and waltzing back to the van. D nodded and followed her.

“Damn, I’m going to miss you,” Show said, sniffing. “Just like old times, with your rank suits stinking up our hideaways.”

“Love you too,” Frank said, shaking his head when Show skated off.

They watched the van leave and then Frank turned to Gerard. “What did he mean, about finding a monkey in a desert?”

“Not a fuckin’ clue,” Gerard said. “Mikes, you’re up front. Let Ray ride the bike for a while.” He grinned at Frank and reached out to tweak his injured nose, ignoring Frank’s squawk of pain.

“We’ve got some twins to find.”

**Chapter 2**

_WELCOME TO WOLFBLOOD BEACH: ENTER AT YOUR OWN PERIL_

The words were inscribed upon the 6-foot-tall aluminum sign at the border to the northern quadrant of Zone 2. The bright green scrawl dripped halfhazardly across the sign. Below them were a pair of bloody handprints, about shoulder-width apart, with a large splotch of dark red between them.

“Are they fucking serious with this?”

Gerard shook his head theatrically. He had his hands on his hips as he surveyed the large aluminum sign with what Frank thought was probably disdain. He couldn’t really tell though, because Gerard’s mask was kind of in the way.

Frank tucked a finger underneath the yellow plastic and pulled the mask forward so he could check out his facial expression. Oh yeah, that was definitely disdain.

“What the fuck!” Gerard squawked when Frank let the mask snap back into place.

“Just checking something,” Frank said, smiling innocently.

“You’re a fucking dick,” Gerard snapped, adjusting his mask for a billion minutes before it was apparently sitting back where he wanted it. “And seriously, what the fuck is this even for? I mean I’ve fucked a lot of people up, but this is just sick.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb here,” Ray said, stepping up behind them, “and say that this sign is trying to warn people into staying out of this territory.”

Frank snorted, turning his back on Gerard and the sign. He had to piss and he’d barely managed to wait until Ray was done so they wouldn’t all be caught with their pants down if BLI came cruising down the road.

“Okay, but, I mean,” Gerard said, as Frank stepped off the road to find a suitable bus or general area, “were the bloody handprints really necessary?”

“I think they add a creative twist,” Ray said. “And the rusty brown really goes well with the, uh, bright green text. The mask helps too,” he said, probably pointing at the grotesquely grinning Drac mask that was nailed to the edges of “PERIL”.

Frank kicked at a small shrub and unzipped his pants. He glanced over his shoulder to see Gerard tilting his head to the side. He was probably trying to survey the sign from someone else’s perspective.

“Still,” Gerard said, once Frank wasn’t watching any more. “You don’t see us putting up signs with bloody words on them. I think they’re compensating. They probably don’t actually kill as many agents as advertised.”

“Party, stop criticizing the canines’ artistic abilities and come check out this cam.”

“Kobra, I’m not gonna wave hi to BLI, do you think I’m an idiot?”

“No, but you are an attention seeker. You’ll want to see this, come on.”

“Fuck you.”

“Camwhore.”

“Square face!”

“Lady nose.”

“I hate your fucking guts.”

“You’re just mad ‘cos it’s true.”

Frank shook his head and zipped up, adjusting himself in his pants before turning to catch Gerard jumping on Mikey. The brothers fell to the ground in an ungainly tangle of limbs and elbows. Muffled swearing emerged from the pile as they rolled around. Suddenly, Gerard shrieked and rolled away, shouting, “Not the ribs you dirty fucking asshole!”

“Let go of my hair!” Mikey yelled back, jabbing a finger between Gerard’s ribs again.

“Ow, ow!” Gerard said, face twisted up. He grabbed Mikey’s ear with one hand, apparently reluctant to release the hair gripped in his other hand. Mikey hit him again and kicked out, catching his shin. “Ow!”

“Let _go_ ,” Mikey panted, sunglasses askew.

Gerard huffed out a breath into the ground and squinched up one eye. “Truce,” he said.

Mikey scowled but nodded when Gerard let his hair go. “Fine.” He accepted the hand Gerard offered to help him up with a grumble.

“You guys are lucky it’s just the two of you,” Ray said. “I had three brothers. You learn how to get out of a pileup pretty quick when they decide five is old enough to learn how to fight.”

Gerard dropped Mikey, who fell to the ground with a surprised “oof”.

“You what?” Gerard asked.

“What?” Ray asked, looking genuinely perplexed.

“You’ve never talked about...” Gerard paused, clearly trying to find the words. “You know, any of that.”

Frank rolled his eyes and walked over to help Mikey up. There was too much staring and not enough getting the hell out of here going on.

“Oh.” Ray blinked, rubbing the back of his neck. “I...I guess I don’t.”

“It’s good,” Gerard said. “The talking, I mean. Sorry if I freaked you out there. You just caught me off-guard. Three brothers.” He folded his arms across his chest and nodded. “Cool.”

He was clearly trying to act as though he was totally milkshake even though he was really more like a bowl of ice cream that’d been left out in the sun a bit too long. It was Frank’s duty to take him off his high horse, probably. “You have dirt on your nose,” he pointed out.

Gerard crossed his eyes and slapped a hand over his nose. “Whatever,” he said, blinking dazedly. “I don’t...let’s just get in the car.”

“Wait, no, come over here and actually look at this,” Mikey said, walking over and tapping the white BLI-issue desert cam. “The wolves nailed a cassette player here and it’s just loops of different people howling over and over. It’s hilarious.”

“Fucking wolves,” Frank said.

“Either they have a really good sense of humour or they think this’ll scare people off,” Mikey said, shaking his head.

“Everyone knows the only one you have to watch out for is AD,” Gerard said, mirroring Mikey.

“What, does he come here often?” Ray asked.

“Uh,” Gerard said, looking at Mikey. “I’ve never seen him.”

“Yeah, but how often have we come out here?” Mikey asked. “In a big group, I mean, not as bikers.”

“Fuck if I know,” Gerard muttered. “Shit, do you think we’ll see him?”

“Guns out,” Ray said, shifting his weight.

“Yeah, just to be safe,” Gerard said.

“So, uh, how’d you know that, you meet him?” Gerard asked, fingers tapping out an unheard pattern on the steering wheel. “AD, I mean.”

Frank shrugged. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. They trust you. “A few times. The guy knows Thriller or something.”

“Yeah, hey, don’t the wolves run in the northern slums of the City?” Gerard asked.

“They run it,” Frank said. “They run the surface, at least. I think Thriller’s got a monopoly on the tunnels. You guys have heard of the quadrant theory, right?” When nobody said anything, he frowned and sat up. “The one about Thriller’s original gang? Where the city is in four parts and they run the whole fucking business? Seriously, how long were you guys out in the desert for?”

“We were out here, what, two years before we met Jet?” Gerard said, twitching his head in the direction of the passenger seat. The motion meant that he was trying to look at Mikey, who was outside the car on the bike again. It was probably a force of habit that came from living with someone for thirty years. “And that was, fuck. A year? Two years? Before we met you. So that’s about how long, I guess.”

“And in all that time, you never met any people who talked about this? Not even any of the rugrats Thriller is always finding?”

“I remember there was this one time,” Ray said, adjusting the sit of his sunglasses on his nose, “where we picked up a stray. And he kind of looked like he might know something about the City? And we asked Thriller about him and he said that yeah, this guy had been running in the tunnels and if you gave him a weapon, he’d learn how to use it before you could get the instructions out. Oh, and then he kind of went crazy and refused to tell us anything about his past or about the City because he thought we would hate him. Oh, and also, it was you.”

“You fuckers never just fucking ask,” Frank grumbled, slouching back in his seat. “You just bring shit up and see if I’ll talk, or you push me until I snap, how the fuck do you think I’m going to react to that?”

“Oh,” Gerard said. “Well, we’re asking now. Some of us are not brave enough to ask Thriller about his potentially long-lost friends when he is always naked with their brother and their brother’s knees, in awkward places.”

“Why are you only wondering about Thriller’s old gang when he is naked with your brother?” Frank asked, squinting up at Gerard.

“Because he is _always_ naked with my brother,” Gerard muttered.

“Anyway,” Ray said. “That theory sounds kind of familiar. I think I’ve heard of one of them. My, uh, my wife said...when she. When we. Like, when we left. Um, she got some intel from someone inside BLI. I thought she was making up his name at the time? I don’t remember what it was...something right out of a fairy tale.”

“Sandman,” Frank said.

“Yes,” Ray said, snapping his fingers. “That’s the one. Anyway, she mentioned something about Sandman being the guy you went to if you needed help. And he referred us to the tunnels because he knew you and Mikey would be there, so I’m guessing he knows Thriller.”

“Okay, but back up here,” Gerard said. “I still don’t know what this quadrant thing is.”

“It’s four, Party,” Frank said. “The city’s kind of a big place, right? So in the beginning, the first to escape from pill hell divided it among themselves. Thriller took the tunnels, made the Rats, and started finding people, rescuing them from BLI and helping them find their way. Hat Trick took the streets, gathered up his Cats; anyone who rescued themselves and found they needed something more than the underground could give them. Sandman was already in the buildings, way I heard it, and he runs a network through there. Thriller told me that only four people know Sandman’s real name. Not even the _Company_ knows it.”

“Wow,” Gerard said.

“Yeah,” Frank said. “Don’t fuck with that guy. If you can even find him.”

“Shit.” Ray shook his head. “So then the Wolves are the fourth?”

“But there’s nothing left of the City,” Gerard said. “You covered all of it.”

“Wolves share the streets with the Cats, Party. Just like the shiny old times, right? Cats and dogs in the streets, rats under them. Hat Trick doesn’t run the Cats like Thriller runs his Rats though. You know he’s a runner, right? He’s the only one outside of BLI who knows how to find everyone. When Thriller says he’ll get someone for you, he calls Trick up. But, fuck. Sidetracked. Right. The wolves get the streets and they also kind of prowl the zones. Some shit happens with the station ghouls, you can bet your ass it’s either the Industries or the Wolves that are behind it. Wolves are nuts, too, they’re unpredictable.”

“I’ve seen wolves, I’m not a baby,” Gerard muttered. “They scavenge at the garbage heaps all the time.”

“They slam and chase and wave too,” Frank said. “But Thriller warned me about that too. Said the wolves are building something but won’t say what. They need parts, and AD goes around to all the factions that live in the Beaches and collects a tax, any parts he finds useful, he’ll take. If you don’t have anything, he gives you a warning, and next time, he shoots you upside the head. Or he gets his Howlers to do it for him.”

“And so AD means?” Ray asked. “I’ve been waiting for years for someone to tell me.”

“Oh,” Frank said. “Right. It’s Alpha Dog. Because, well. It pretty much explains itself.”

“Really?” Ray asked. “That’s disappointing.”

“Pretty much,” Frank said. “He just likes telling everyone he’s the boss.”

“All of these male gang leaders,” Gerard said, shaking his head. “Why aren’t there more women out here?”

“The desert is gross?” Ray asked.

“Glitter’s a gang leader, pretty much,” Frank said. “So’s Goldilocks. Tommy used to be, before her group got blasted. News is a chick too, I hear.”

“Well fuck me,” Gerard said. “I’d apologize if there were any biological women in the car.”

“Biological women can’t fuck you as well,” Frank said. “So I’d watch my mouth if I were you.”

Gerard grinned and straightened up in his seat, obviously about to spew a comeback when the roar of Mikey’s bike crept up to the driver’s side of the car. He made a complicated-looking hand gesture and Gerard sucked in a breath. “Shit, shit, shit,” he said. “Cars coming. BLI ones.”

“You got all that from those hyper hand squiggles?” Frank asked, but Gerard waved him off, watching as Mikey gestured again.

“He was in front of us and I think he startled them, fuck. He didn’t actually get a good look at who’s driving. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

“What’s the big deal?” Frank asked, priming Fun Ghoul. “So we kill a few Dracs before lunch. No different from a few weeks ago.”

“Kobra says they’re blocking the road,” Gerard muttered.

Frank snorted. “And you don’t want to scratch up your precious baby? Stop being a whiny little shit and hit those motherfuckers!”

“This is our only ride, Ghoul!” Gerard shouted. “We can’t break her!”

“At worst, she’ll just be scuffed up,” Frank scoffed. “Just hit the nose of their car, they’ll spin more.”

Frank could see the makeshift blockade coming up. Gerard’s dilemma was reasonable: there was no way they could go offroad in this territory: they were bracketed on either side by ominous, scraggly trees, and the AM _was_ their only car. And she was beautiful. But sometimes, Frank just wanted for Gerard to run over one of the fucking whitefaces just to teach them a lesson about not getting in the way.

“Shit, fuck,” Gerard swore, slamming on the brakes. Frank thought he’d hit them a second too late: he was barely keeping himself in his seat by holding on to the lip of the window, but the AM stopped a foot from the mad grin of the BLI logo.

Gerard, clutching the wheel so hard his knuckles were white, didn’t move for a moment, so Frank took the initiative and cleared his throat. “Um,” he said, opening the door and stalking out of the car. “What the fuck?”

The driver of the black car, a man with wildly curly hair, sharp teeth, and a pair of mirrored sunglasses, got out of the car. “Bless my stars. If it ain’t Cashew. I do declare, you got yourself all roughed up, Nutty McPhee.”

“It’s Peanut,” Frank said, through gritted teeth. He stepped forward so he was even with the AM’s side mirror. “No, fuck you, Dog, no. It’s Fun Ghoul.”

“My heavens,” AD said, snorting. “Almond thinks he can just pick his own name. You wanna change it, you gotta earn your fuckin’ stripes, little man.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Frank asked, moving his thumb on Fun Ghoul’s barrel in tight circles. “I’m a real boy now. Ask the fucking Sandman.”

“Nah,” AD said. “I’d rather see it for myself.”

“Ghoul,” Gerard whispered, “is he asking to watch while we have sex?”

AD laughed, long and loud, and Frank could practically hear Gerard stiffening in indignation. Or, actually, he could hear the sound of his leather jacket squeaking as he probably sat up.

“Fuck you, that’s a reasonable concern, I think,” Gerard grumbled.

“You’re funny, Party Poison,” AD said, the aftershocks of laughter still making his shoulders tremble. “I wish I didn’t have to shoot you in the head, but we all got problems, huh?”

“If you touch him, I will _end you_ ,” Frank snarled. His trigger finger was itching to get used. “And I’ll do it with my bare hands.”

“I’ll probably have to set off the explosives we like to lay around then,” AD said, shrugging.

“Well, my gun is already out,” Frank said. “And yours can’t be primed if it’s in your holster.”

“Oh really,” AD said, snorting. “And what makes you think that?”

Frank pointed his thumb back over his shoulder as Mikey shuffled closer. He’d parked his bike right next to the AM, but he had a sixth sense for when he was about to be complimented. “You don’t have the fucking Kobra Kid on your team. If he hasn’t figured out how to do it, it can’t be done.”

“Right,” AD said. “So when the good Doctor did that broadcast on how to make your gun silent, I suppose he tried that out?”

“He’s the one that gave D his fucking intel,” Frank said. AD’s mouth twitched. “Yeah. So back the fuck down and move your car.”

“You’re gutsy,” AD said. “That a trait that’ll get you killed in my beaches.”

“Been there done that,” Frank said, shrugging. “Do your fucking worst.”

AD snorted again and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine, we’ll move, but you gotta pay for your passage, boy.” He rapped his knuckles on the roof of the car. “Hey, Blood, turn off the TNT for a sec.”

A kid with more curly brown hair than Ray stuck his head out of the back window. “We’re letting them through?” He blinked up at Frank through glasses with huge frames.

“Yeah,” AD said. “If they can work out a way to eliminate the need to recharge our guns.”

Mikey scuffed his boot on the pavement and cleared his throat. “I might be working on something like that.”

“You give it to the Doc when you’re done,” AD said. “And you do it before you fucking storm any buildings, you hear me? Not even Sandman can divert the Lady’s wrath when it’s pointed at someone like a laser to the sky.”

“How did you --” Gerard said. Frank glanced down at him and scratched at his cheek, where his bandana was getting scratchy against his still-sensitive scar. “Right. Thriller,” Gerard mumbled, eyes narrowed even behind his mask.

Blood got out of the black car and started puttering around at the edges of the road when someone howled in the distance. AD grinned and nodded to Blood when the kid looked over at him. “Do it,” he said.

“Right,” Blood said, and turned his face up to the sky before letting out a loud howl in answer.

Mikey nudged Frank in the shoulder, but when Frank looked back, Mikey’s bike helmet was obscuring whatever facial expression he was trying to use. Frank rolled his eyes and turned back to face AD. The roar of two motorcycles preceded the two bikes that rode up to the back of the car. There were two people on one of the bikes, and when they got off, the pair of people were wheezing with laughter. They all pulled off their helmets almost at the same time.

“The fuck is wrong with you two?” AD asked, frowning.

“Midnight challenged Bang to a race,” the sandy-haired one with a beard said, rubbing the tip of his nose with long fingers. “And Bang got stuck behind one of them big trucks, right? So he shoots out one of their tires, and fucking...”

“The back of the truck opened up and he went right inside, came out with a lamp and a goddamn sheepish face,” said Midnight, tucking a long strand of hair behind his ear.

“How was I supposed to know the latch was undone?” Bang said, shrugging. “Hey, at least I got a lamp.”

“He said it was dark in there and he thought snatching an unplugged lamp was the best way to go. And then he had to hold it the whole way back!” The first one said, still chuckling. “Okay, but it is a really great lamp.”

“Valmont,” Midnight said, elbowing the sandy one in the ribs. “Strangers.”

“Oh,” Valmont said. “I mean. Bang’s really tough and not into interior design.”

“Fuck it,” Bang said, grabbing the lamp from the seat of his bike and holding it up. “This is my goddamn trophy. I won, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, because we were laughing too hard to steer properly,” Midnight said.

“He means we are fierce and are very good at biking,” Valmont said. “You’re ruining our reputation here, guys.”

Blood slipped past Frank to fiddle with the ground beneath his feet. “Did you guys really die?” he whispered, the noise so low compared to the rest of the Howlers that Frank almost missed it.

“Um,” he said, looking down at the way the kid’s hair shifted as he moved. “Yes.”

“You used to be Peanut, right?” Blood murmured, straightening up. He was definitely younger than Frank and definitely taller. Fuck everything.

“Yes,” Frank muttered, rolling his eyes.

“So you died twice then,” Blood said. He fiddled with the bridge of his glasses. “Cool. Did you guys really run into Blackbird last week?”

“Okay, quit it,” Frank said. “How do you know so much about us?”

“The Doctor’s broadcasts,” Blood said, eyes wide. “He’s always telling stories about you. You’re his favourite group. Did he really cut up your face?”

“I heard the word cut,” Bang said, speaking above everyone else. “Who got cut where oh my god it’s the Killjoys.”

“The what,” Valmont said. “The fabulous Killjoys heard the stupid lamp story? Oh my god, smite me now.”

Bang put a hand over his mouth, angling it towards Valmont before he hissed, “Do you think they would give us their autographs?”

“We really just want to get through,” Gerard said. “If you all don’t mind.”

“Oh my god, that one’s Party Poison,” Bang said. “And he talked to me.”

“He was talking to _me_ , braindead, I’m the leader,” Valmont hissed.

“But he was looking right at me!” Bang exclaimed.

“He’s wearing a mask, how can you tell?” Midnight asked.

“Shut up, let me have my dreams,” Bang muttered.

“It was really nice to meet you and not blow you up, Mister Fun Ghoul,” Blood murmured. He nodded at Mikey. “Mister Kobra Kid. Mister Party Poison. Mister Jet Star.”

“Blood, you’re embarrassing us in front of the Killjoys,” Bang announced.

Frank looked down at the hand that Blood had extended to him, and shook it. “How old are you, anyway?” he asked.

“Twenty-one,” Blood said. “Sir.”

Well, that wasn’t so young, then. Frank nodded and turned his face to the side before he tugged the corner of his bandana down just enough so his scar was clearly visible.

“Holy shit,” Blood breathed.

“Right through the muscle,” Kobra said as Frank pulled his bandana back up. “There was blood everywhere. It was disgusting.”

“What is he showing them, I can’t see from over here,” Bang hissed. “VALMONT, he’s looking at me now.”

“Shut up, assface,” Valmont hissed.

“Yeah, watch out,” Midnight drawled. “Or they’ll think we aren’t huge nerds.”

“Would you all kindly shut the fuck up and move my car?” Alpha snapped, scowling. “I want this Killjoy scum off my road and out of my life.”

Valmont and Bang hurried to the car, wrestling over who would be behind the wheel before Midnight shoved them aside and slipped into the driver’s seat. As he started up the car, the other two grabbed Blood and dragged him off the road.

“You get me those plans lick-spit-quick, you hear me?” AD said above the barely-there hum of the electric car’s engine. “Or I will hunt you down and cut your face off.”

“Oh my god, we could have a Killjoy face on our wall,” Bang whispered.

“Oh my god, they’re going to drive in front of us,” Valmont whispered back.

“They’re cool, right?” Bang asked, eyes wide.

“So cool,” Blood said.

“Shut up!” Alpha growled. “They aren’t cool! Go find some fucking supplies or something. I don’t even care! Just get out of here!”

Frank snickered and gave Blood a wave. As he climbed back into the car and Gerard started it up, he could have sworn that he saw Bang swoon a bit. “See you never,” he shouted at AD, who just scowled and waved them on.

A few twists of the road got them out of sight of the mismatched gang, and Ray sat up in his seat. “Well, they were weird,” he said.

“Yeah, really fuckin’ weird,” Frank said.

Gerard was silent and Frank twisted his way over the middle console to get a good look at his face. “You liked it, didn’t you?” he asked.

“What?” Gerard said, mouth gaping. “No, no, I just.”

“You did!” Frank crowed, punching Gerard in the shoulder before slumping back in his own seat. “I can’t even believe it.”

“Oh, stop,” Ray said, with a cheeky grin. “You’re making him blush.”

“Shut up, I didn’t like it!”

“You liked that they knew your name,” Frank said. “And that they wanted your autograph. Oh my god, you were preening the whole time, weren’t you?”

“He totally was,” Ray said.

“I will kick you out of the car,” Gerard grumbled, hunching over the wheel.

“Aw, we made baby grumpy,” Frank said. He was almost laughing too hard to get the words out, but he stopped when his face twinged angrily. “Owfuck, haha. Oh, you’re a riot, Party Poison.”

Gerard muttered something under his breath, but the noise was lost beneath the crackle of the radio coming to life. A man’s voice growled through, dark and deep. _“Attention all runners: got a report of acid rain comin through, under an hour. Gonna be a real metal buster of a storm. Find shelter asap or you’re gonna have to find a new head. Attention all runners...”_

**Chapter 3**

“Yes, this is a good place to stop,” Gerard said.

The gas station they were stopped at looked pretty much exactly like the other five places they had driven past in the last half hour. It had an overhang they could park the AM under so the paint wouldn’t get seared off, and a building that they could hide in. It looked abandoned, a bit decrepit, but altogether like a good shelter- _exactly_ like the other two _identical_ gas stations they’d passed without Gerard’s approval.

Frank got out of the car and stood beside Gerard. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Hm?” Gerard asked, raising an eyebrow at Frank. His yellow mask was pushed up over his head, making hair looked bunched up and stupid where the elastic was catching it.

“We couldn’t have stopped an hour ago, when acid wasn’t about to drop on our heads like a fucking light grenade?” Frank asked, rolling his eyes.

“If you’re referring to the other places we stopped at,” Gerard said, looking at Frank like _he_ was the idiot, “I didn’t like the look of them.”

“You’re such a fucking diva,” Frank muttered. He shoved Gerard’s shoulder and then hopped over the hood of the car to help Ray with the tarp from the trunk. It was always better to be safe than sorry out in the zones, and if you wanted to keep your car shiny and dangerous, you kept it covered up and drove it under shelter when the rains came. The acid in the water could strip the paint off just about anything, and the buildings in this zone really showed it. Unlike in the more desert areas where sandstorms were more common than acid rain, the buildings here all looked washed out, shades of grey and brown.

“One of the places looked like it was about to fall over,” Gerard said, not bothering to lift a finger as Frank and Ray shook out the tarp and draped it over his precious baby car. “One of them looked like it probably didn’t have any beds, and one of them I could smell from the road.”

“Pretty sure you were just smelling Kobra,” Ray said, using the man’s codename because gas stations in the zones seemed to all be under BLI surveillance 24/7 these days.

“Pretty sure you can’t tell if a place has beds from the outside,” Frank muttered. He popped the trunk and hauled out the box he’d made sure to get back from D’s taped-up van. It clinked as he walked, the weight heavy and familiar in his arms. “Let’s get inside before the fucking storm starts,” he said.

Mikey finally doubled back around, driving under the overhang before he shut off his bike’s quiet engine. “Rain’s a second away,” he said, walking the bike towards them all. “Let’s go in.”

Frank slipped through the door Ray was holding open and set his box down on what looked like a pretty sturdy counter. Behind him he could hear the quiet rumble of the coming storm, and Gerard’s voice saying, “Kobra, what the hell? You can’t bring that thing in here!”

“Party,” Mikey said, voice flat, “I can’t leave her out there in that weather.”

“Her? Kobra, it’s a stolen bike. It isn’t even yours.”

“Is too. I named her Jezebel.”

Gerard huffed out a breath as Frank turned around. Mikey was trying to wheel his motorcycle in the door which Gerard was blocking with his body. “Kobra, you know that’s what they used to call whores, pre-pig.”

“Shhh,” Mikey said, patting the bike’s handlebars. “Don’t listen to him, baby, don’t listen to the nonbeliever.”

“There’s no room in here,” Gerard whined.

“Shh baby, shh,” Mikey said. “Party, move.”

“Leave your bike under the tarp,” Gerard said. “Or just out in the open, it’s fucking BLI-issue.”

“You want people to think we’re Dracs?” Mikey asked. “I’m bringing Jez in for the safety of the group, obviously.”

“Fuck you,” Gerard said.

“Fuck you more,” Mikey said. He wheeled the bike in and parked it in front of the door. When he pulled his helmet off, he had this damn smug look on his face.

“Don’t be a stupid skinny-face, Kobra,” Gerard muttered, scowling.

“Hey, don’t embarrass me in front of my lady,” Mikey said, cocking his hip to the side. “Bitch.”

“Don’t tell Thriller you’re cheating on him with a motorcycle,” Frank said.

“Fuck you, whore,” Mikey snapped.

Gerard opened his mouth, hopefully to defend Frank’s honour, but at that very moment, thunder rumbled, so loud above their heads that the roof seemed to shake. Gerard just shut his mouth and swallowed whatever insult he was about to dish out, ushering Mikey inside.

Ray shifted over to a corner, eyeing the BLI radio transmitter on the counter with glee. “How long’s this storm supposed to last?” he asked.

“Couple hours,” Mikey said. Thunder sounded again and he swallowed too, looking at Gerard nervously. “Fucking hate thunderstorms,” he muttered.

“I know,” Gerard said, voice low. He was watching the ceiling with suspicion. “It’ll be over soon.”

Mikey shifted his weight and rubbed at his forearm. “That thing have two sets of headphones?” he asked, making his way over to Ray.

“Yeah,” Ray muttered, eye bright as he toggled with the dials. “One for each station ghoul, huh?”

The rain started up then, loud crashes of water on the roof of the station. Everyone looked up, holding their breath, but aside from an unhappy groan, the structure held. “See?” Gerard said, mildly triumphant. “That’s why I picked this place.”

Frank rolled his eyes and turned away from Mikey and Ray, who were both matching shades of white until they got their headphones on.

The station was blessedly silent aside from the angry patter of rain on the roof. It was sort of cozy in the way that rainstorms were, with the station still warm from the sunshine it had been experiencing before the rain had come, and Mikey silent in the corner. Frank unzipped his vest and put it on the counter beside his box of materials. He had been mildly worried when he’d woken up in D’s van instead of the diner that they would have left all of his stuff behind for the Crows to pick apart. When he’d finally been able to make sounds though, his half-whines of distress and vague hand gesture had made Mikey bend over and pull his precious box of scraps out from under the bench.

He’d found the box in a scav heap, a sad empty and half-rotted cardboard shape that barely resembled a box. The wolf guarding the pile had flashed his canines and told Frank to “Keep it, honey, you don’t even need to trade me nothin’ for it”. For that, Frank had nodded, given the man a dazzling smile, and had proceeded to fill the box up with as many tools and bits of metal he could find before they got out of there. He’d patched the box up with a new lining made from some kind of strong fiber he’d found in one place and braced it with some support brackets, and now it just looked shitty from the outside.

He pulled out the compass he’d jived up from a wire and a piece of wood. He was trying to build a shield that’d help to reflect lights away from him like the windshields on their cars did. Straight glass didn’t do anything, but tilt it just right, and the light’d glance off it or disappear through it. Frank didn’t know which one of these it was, but he was pretty determined to find out.

He held the compass up to the metal framework he’d soldered together the last time they’d been within range of an iron and set about covering it with the not-paper-fabric he’d found in a pair of threadbare pants in Zone 1.

Gerard shuffled over, hands in his pockets and cleared his throat when Frank tugged a pair of magno-specs over his eyes. “What you got there, Ghoul?”

“Needle and thread,” Frank muttered, squinting at the needle’s eye so he could poke the thread through it.

“What else you got there?” Gerard asked, peering over his shoulder when Frank deftly pushed the needle through the material.

“Metal,” Frank said. He wanted to make sure at the frame was completely covered before he started draping reflective foil around it. He’d got the foil from a shiny jacket he’d found; it had been lined with this silvery material. He’d spent most of his time at that heap picking the fibers of the jacket apart so he didn’t have to loan out his arm and leg just for a stupid coat liner.

Gerard huffed out a breath and the air tickled Frank’s ear. “What’re you gonna do with it?”

“Wear it,” Frank said, swatting at Gerard’s face. “Don’t blow air in my ear.”

“Tell me what you’re doing, then!” Gerard snapped. He leaned forward when Frank wasn’t looking and blew a giant gust of air right into Frank’s ear. “Tell me or I’ll do it again.”

“What are you, twelve?” Frank asked. He twitched away from Gerard, wiping his ear on his shoulder. “I’m working, back the fuck off.”

“I’m _bored_ ,” Gerard said. He was silent for a moment, and then he blew a steady stream of air right at Frank.

“I’m not gonna play with you, motherfucker,” Frank snapped. He reached blindly over the side of his box and came up with the thick rectangular pencil he’d found in a pre-pig constructo-machine. “Fucking draw or something.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Gerard huffed. He snatched the pencil from Frank and walked around in a small circle before squishing himself somewhere under the counter. “You’re no fun.”

“Am too, I’m the life of the party,” Frank muttered. “Why d’you think they call me Fun Ghoul?”

“Because you’re a jackass and you came up with it on a whim,” Gerard muttered. “And ‘cos your ego is huge and you think you’re fun when really, you’re just a dumbshit mechanic that likes to do old person things for fun.”

“Who’re you calling old, thirty-four?” Frank said, laughing. “Fuck you, man. Last time we went to a wave, you were the one who sat in the corner and bitched about pint-runners’ hairstyles being inappropriate for the zones. I was the one who pulled your diva ass into the light pit. Fucking old. As if.”

“Hmm,” Gerard hummed. “I can’t hear anything you’re saying.”

“Yeah, ‘cos you’re ancient and your ears are full of fucking dust,” Frank muttered, but he finished looping his thread around the last brace and tied the string off. There. That looked good. He’d been practicing shooting his gun at metal bent to this shape and he was pretty sure he’d got the right angle for light reduction.

Only now, the problem was that he didn’t have any way to attach the foil to the rest of it. If he poked holes in the metal, it wouldn’t do its job properly, and he’d just end up with another hole in his shoulder.

“Shit,” he muttered. He really should have planned ahead a bit more. Well, that had never been his strong suit. The ceiling groaned again as Frank packed his guard into the box.

Thunder clapped above their roof and Frank jumped about five feet in the air when Mikey appeared at his shoulder like a demon straight from hell. “What’s all that?” he asked, face tinged with green.

“Scrap metal,” Frank said. “Are you okay?”

Mikey blinked at him. Frank could practically see his brain at work. It was probably filtering out half of Frank’s words. “Got any wires in there?” he asked, peering over the edge of the box.

“Uh, yeah,” Frank said. “I think I got some scrap tech in there too, some flashy silver circle thing and a green thing with spikes, and...oh yeah, and the stick thing with a jelly coating and a light at the end that doesn’t seem to do anything.”

Mikey’s eyebrows came together and his mouth tilted down. “Spikes?” he asked, fishing the green thing out from the box. “This thing?”

“Yeah, the card with bumps and thorns, I call it,” Frank said. Gerard slid out from under the counter with what sounded like some difficulty.

“It’s called a motherboard. You disgust me,” Mikey muttered. He said something else under his breath, but Frank couldn’t really make out what he was saying because he was mumbling.

And then Frank couldn’t understand Mikey because he was looking at the paper Gerard had shoved in front of his face, and his brain was too busy shorting out to concentrate on whatever Mikey was trying to say.

“Oh my god,” Frank choked. He clutched the paper to his chest and looked up at Gerard, who raised his eyebrows, and then at Mikey, who was staring at him like he was an idiot. “I have to. Um. You play with those, I’ll just I need to look in the back for...parts. Don’t hurl on my equipment.”

“Uh-huh,” Mikey said, eyebrows drawn together. “Gee, go with him, he’s acting weird. Ghoul, I’m gonna bring this box over to Jet and listen for a while, he hacked the waves and got D’s signal. Try not to hurt yourself.”

Frank rushed away from Mikey, in a hurry to get into the back room now that he’d seen what Gerard had been doodling under the counter. The redhead followed, casual as all fuck, and leaned on the door frame while Frank paced around the room.

Frank pulled the paper away from his chest and waved it in the air. “Porn!” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” Gerard said. “I told you I was bored.”

“This isn’t fair!” Frank said. “I can’t draw porn to distract you! This is...”

“Below the belt?” Gerard interrupted. “That’s what I was hoping for. Come on, we don’t know how long this storm’s gonna last. And BLI probably knows we’re fucking anyway, so even if they’ve got this place bugged, it doesn’t matter.”

“I was trying to work so we wouldn’t all die right away when we bust into the City or wherever they’re keeping Grace!” Frank said. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Gerard shrugged. “Kobra and Jet are riding waves, you had your dumb metal projects...I’m bored. All I got’s the car, and she’s outside.” He toyed with the zipper of his jacket. “So.”

“You’re such a shit,” Frank said, running a hand through his hair as he surveyed the picture. It was. An eerily accurate depiction of him and Gerard in three very lewd and suggestive positions. Frank wanted to try _all_ of them. He cleared his throat. “Uh, you know if the rest of them got their headphones on, or what?”

“Both of ‘em,” Gerard said. He pushed himself off the frame and sauntered over to Frank, eyes dark. “Why, what’re you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that my mouth hurts like a motherfucker,” Frank said, touching the long scar briefly. “But I kinda like the look of number 3.”

“Mm. Wouldn’t require you use your mouth if we reversed it. And I can just kiss the other side, huh,” Gerard murmured. He tilted his head to the side and crowded Frank up against a table that was covered in junk. He nosed along Frank’s jaw, breath warm where it hit Frank’s neck.

“How ‘bout you don’t kiss my mouth at all?” Frank mumbled, tracing the crooked line of Gerard’s mouth with the pad of his thumb. “Save you the trouble of worryin’, huh?”

“What, you’re gonna make me do all the work?” Gerard grumbled, but his hands were already working at Frank’s belt.

“You’re the one who drew the picture,” Frank said, grinning when Gerard huffed out a breath on his neck.

“You’re a dick,” Gerard informed Frank as he sunk to his knees.

“You suck,” Frank told him. Less of an observation and more of a command.

“You bet I do,” Gerard muttered. He swore at the belt when it finally opened up. “You keep this too tight.”

“So says you, Mister Skin Pants,” Frank said. He glanced behind him at the table and braced himself on the edge. “How’re your knees? You need me to hop up here, Thirty?”

“Shut up, my knees are fine.” Gerard yanked Frank’s pants down and looked up at him, blowing a strand of red out of his eyes. “And you’re almost thirty too, so shut up about my age, or I will leave you like this and never touch you again.”

Frank made a truly embarrassing noise when Gerard got Frank’s dick out of his pants. He’d been half-hard since Gerard had shoved that goddamn picture in front of his face, but he hadn’t really expected to be having sex this soon after getting his face cut up like an idiot. “Sorry,” he said, definitely not in a squeaky voice because he was a goddamn man and he was not a teenaged girl.

“Sorry?” Gerard asked, raising an eyebrow as he stroked Frank a few times. “Sorry for what?” He looked contemplative as he twisted his hand around the head of Frank’s cock. “Hey, d’you think if I deep-throat you, you’ll make that squeaky sound again?”

“Shut the fuck up!” Frank said. “You’re supposed to like my dumb sex noises, that’s your...” he trailed off when Gerard licked his lips and licked up the shaft.

Gerard pulled off, thumbs tracing over the edges of Frank’s hipbones. “Sorry, that’s my what?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Uhhghuh,” Frank said. This was what happened when there was was no blood left in his brain or mouth or anywhere that wasn’t his dick, which was, for reasons he could not fathom, no longer in Gerard’s mouth. He was confused.

“I thought so,” Gerard mumbled. He looked really smug. Frank sort of wished he knew why, but then Gerard was taking Frank in his mouth again and really, he didn’t care all that much. Gerard always managed to be pretty articulate during sex, but Frank couldn’t really manage more than a whine when Gerard pulled back again.

“You should, uh,” Gerard said, gesturing to his mouth. “Hold your mouth, like. Shut. So you don’t break it.”

“Uh,” Frank said.

“Because you’re loud when you have sex, so. I can’t stop thinking about your mouth, like. Flapping all over or whatever. Don’t want Kobra to have to stitch you back up again.”

“Don’t talk about your brother when your hand’s on my dick, fucker. You’re so fuckin’ weird,” Frank muttered, but he covered his mouth with one hand as directed. “Happy?” he asked, voice muffled. He threaded his free fingers through Gerard’s hair and tried to helpfully show Gerard where exactly he was supposed to be going with a series of strategic thrusts.

“Yes, yes, okay,” Gerard said, trying to shake his greasy hair out of his eyes. “Stop pushing your cock at me, I think I know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Frank muttered, but he just lifted his eyebrows when Gerard glared up at him.

“Ha ha, fuck you,” Gerard mumbled, but he put pressure on Frank’s hips, holding him in place when he finally, _finally_ went back down.

Frank choked on a moan when Gerard started up a good rhythm. He was doing that thing where he sort of swirled his tongue right under the head. Frank could never quite replicate it with his hand. It was like a twirly, wonderful _something_ , and fuck if Gerard hadn’t just been born to suck dick. He had the mouth and the tongue, and, oh god, the throat for it. 

Gerard made a pleased sort of hum that Frank felt all over when Frank stifled another moan behind his hand. His eyes were closed, and he looked like he was the happiest he’d ever been. Frank couldn’t help thrusting his hips forward, and instead of pushing back on Frank’s hips and doing that forehead-creasy-frown he made when he was really annoyed about something, Gerard just _let him_. He couldn’t take Frank all the way down, but he definitely put forth a valiant effort that made Frank’s eyes almost roll back in his head. His throat was so _tight_ , and when Frank pushed his hips up, Geard moaned and the vibrations undid Frank like a spool of thread.

“Uhhghk, fuck,” Frank moaned. He felt like he was probably pulling all of Gerard’s hair out, but the redhead didn’t complain; he just shifted on his knees and wrapped his hand around the base of Frank’s cock, moving it in time with his mouth.

Frank struggled to remember to keep his own mouth shut. It was hard because his brain was shut off while his body overdosed on sensation, but he really wanted to be babbling nonsense or letting his mouth hang open. Instead, he just kept his hand clamped as tight as he could. There was probably drool gathering around his mouth and he couldn’t really breathe properly. He was also almost definitely going to have bruises on his cheekbones and his hips where Gerard had been holding on, but he could really care less.

He was not going to last at this pace, so he tugged at Gerard’s hair, trying to get the man to pull off. “‘Mgonna,” he panted, but Gerard only moved back a little. His eyes were dark when he looked up at Frank, and he moved his hand faster. Frank’s whole body shook when he came, his vision blurring into golds and whites until he closed his eyes. Gerard stroked him through it, and then Frank lost his grip on his legs when the redhead let go of him. He slid to the floor, landing on his knees.

Gerard was right there, so Frank let his head flop forward into the warm junction of Gerard’s neck, just breathing in the older man’s sweat.

“You can take your hand off now,” Gerard murmured somewhere above him, prying at Frank’s fingers.

“Uhh,” Frank breathed. His mouth did actually hurt when he opened it too far, so he just kept it closed.

“Mm,” Gerard muttered. He leaned over and pressed his lips to the nape of Frank’s neck. His voice sounded absolutely wrecked, and Frank had to lift his head to press his lips clumsily to Gerard’s. The older man chuckled and pulled back. “That was nice, but I’m going to need to borrow your hand now.”

“Take my soul if you need it,” Frank said. He watching idly as Gerard undid his pants and pushed his forehead back into Gerard’s neck. He batted Gerard’s hands away when Gerard’s cock came into view, already hard. Frank used the hand he’d been using to hold his mouth shut down: it was already slick with spit from when he’d drooled on it earlier.

Gerard groaned in Frank’s ear, his hips moving forward in little jerks. Frank twisted his hand around the head, trying to copy what Gerard always did to him. The action pulled another groan out of Gerard, who pushed his hands up the back of Frank’s shirt, panting brokenly into Frank’s ear. “Frank, _fuck_ , Frank,” Gerard panted, and came all over Frank’s hand and the front of his vest.

“You used my name,” Frank said, idly looking for something to wipe his hands on.

Gerard groaned and flopped back on the dirty floor, not even bothering to zip up his own pants.

“Lazy motherfucker,” Frank muttered, zipping himself up and grimacing at the mess they’d made. He forced himself to get up, looking for a magazine or something he could wipe his hand on. He found an old issue of BLI Weekly, which he grabbed and swiped at his shirt and hands before he looked down at what it had been lying on.

“Gee,” Frank said, startled as he touched a pile of black leather with his now-clean-ish finger. Right. Codenames. “Party Poison, come the fuck on over here.”

“What,” Gerard said, standing with a groan and zipping up his own pants.

“It’s fucking,” Frank said, pulling the jacket off the table. “It’s a black version of your jacket.”

“Oh, no shit,” Gerard breathed, suddenly awake, apparently. “I fucking love jackets.”

“Finally, leather that doesn’t smell like it’s died and been reincarnated as a pile of shit,” Frank said, giggling when Gerard swatted him. “It’s not even remotely rank.”

“Shut up, punk,” Gerard muttered, but he was already slipping out of his blue jacket and tugging the black one on. It was the same size as his old one, and fit him like the pair of gloves Frank knew were sitting under his seat in the AM. He zipped it from bottom to top and twirled. “What do you think?”

Frank brushed off the shoulders when Gerard stopped, facing away from him, and wrapped his arms around the redhead’s neck from behind. “You look dangerous,” Frank said, trying not to rub his scar on Gerard’s face. “Like a black and white piece of a dream.”

“A photograph,” Gerard said, tapping his fingers on Frank’s tattooed knuckles. “Do I look like a getaway driver, at least?”

“Nah. More like the fucking crash queen of the zones,” Frank said. “Ruler of all you survey.”

Gerard was quiet for a moment and then he sighed. “I should cut my hair.”

“After Grace, we’ll all do it,” Frank said. “We’ll even pin Mikey down and shave the sides of his head, how’s that?”

The rain kept crashing on the roof, and Frank heard thunder and wind outside of their little shelter, but inside...inside, everything felt okay. Like they might yet make it. Like they weren’t about to walk headfirst into their own death.

The rain would stop eventually.

**Chapter 4**

“He’s supposed to be right here,” Gerard said, frowning over Mikey’s shoulder.

Mikey gritted his teeth together. “I fucking know that, that’s why I fucking said ‘They aren’t here’.”

Gerard huffed and scratched the back of his head. His sunglasses were obscuring his eyes, but Frank could read the frustrated set of his mouth. Ray leaned over on the other side of Mikey and squinted at the plastic chip with the glowing dots on it. “Didn’t D say something about this guy being hard to find? I mean, that might be why we can’t find him.”

Frank twirled his finger in the air. “And the gold medal goes to Captain fucking Obvious.”

“Shut up, at least I’m trying to help,” Ray muttered.

Objectively, Frank knew it wasn’t Ray’s fault that they couldn’t find JJ. But this whole ordeal was a sack of shit. They’d left the gas station in the morning, and it had taken them a good two hours to get to the blinking spot on the little piece of tech and plastic that was their map, after which they had been circling around the same five roads for what felt like _forever_. Frank kicked at the tire of the AM, hands deep in his pockets. A plume of sand rose up from the car, and he swore under his breath and pulled his bandana up. They’d gone through a patch of dust a few minutes ago and the air around them was still thick with it.

“Let’s just keep moving,” Ray said. He  was using his Dad Voice, the one he used when Grace was having a tantrum. It was nauseating. “Maybe they’re just around this general area?”

“We’ve been driving around this area for an hour though,” Gerard muttered, pushing his hair behind his ear. It fell back in his face the moment he let go, but he didn’t seem to notice the filthy strands hanging in his eyes.

Everyone was usually pretty crabby after driving for a certain length of time. Gerard could last for six hours, Ray about eight. Frank was usually cool for a few hours. One, maybe two. So long as there was music or something to talk about, he was good for a little while before he started to get an anxious feeling deep in the pit of his stomach and wanted to get out and _do_ something.

“What if we turned it upside down,” Gerard muttered.

Mikey growled and threw the map at Gerard, hands clenching at his sides. He stomped off into a clump of bushes and disappeared around a tree. Gerard’s mouth twisted to the side in a brotherly-patience-wearing-thin way as he sighed and picked up the map.

Mikey’s breaking point was an hour. Exactly. And after his road warrior stoicism gave out to whiny little-brother fits, Gerard generally stopped the car and let Mikey out to punch the air, or some bushes, or Frank, so they all let him. He needed to let out his frustration, and Frank was just glad that Mikey wasn’t practicing kung fu on _his_ ass.

If Mikey had been gone for a little while and had come back slightly huffy but mostly calm, nobody would have lifted a finger, but when he came walking back under a minute later with his hands in the air, his lips in a thin line, everyone had their guns out and primed before they even thought to ask why.

“GUNS ON THE GROUND,” whoever was behind Mikey shouted. The figure must have been significantly smaller than Mikey because Frank couldn’t see them, and Mikey was one of the skinniest people Frank knew. “Or I’ll shoot this red jacketed son of a bitch so fast, nobody will be able to so much as fucking _blink_.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Gerard shouted.

The person ignored Gerard. “I don’t see your guns, motherfuckers!”

Gerard’s upper lip curled back, but he tossed Party Poison at the ground near Mikey’s feet without hesitating. Ray did the same, and Frank had a hand on Fun Ghoul when he bent down to put her on the ground and caught a glimpse of the legs between Mikey’s.

He held Ghoul by the tip, unwilling to relinquish her now that he’d seen the size of the legs between Mikey’s and jerked his chin in Mikey’s direction. “Show your face, coward,” he said, trying not to giggle when the person behind Mikey kicked his knees from behind. Mikey fell to the ground with an ‘oof’ and grimaced when his own gun met the back of his head.

The person holding Mikey up and possibly standing on his calves to gain a few inches of height was a little girl. Frank had guessed that the person was a kid, but he hadn’t figured out the girl part. He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled past his lips.

The girl snarled at Frank. “You gonna drop your fucking gun, shorty?”

“Why don’t you tell us why you’ve got our friend hostage?” Frank asked, raising an eyebrow.

The girl curled her lip back to reveal a sharp canine. “You don’t drop your gun, I’ll fry his brains.”

“Go ahead,” Frank said. “Fucking survived it once, why wouldn’t he make it this time?”

The girl tilted her head forward, letting her sunglasses fall down her freckled nose. She had a head of blonde hair that was tied back in a loose ponytail, some strands of which were falling around her heart-shaped face. Like all of the desert dwellers with any sense, there was a bandana tied around her neck, blue with yellow stars hand painted on, and a forest green jacket that went up to her wrists.

“This weedy son of a bitch survived a laser blast?” she asked, narrowing her big doe eyes at Frank. “Hang on. You ain’t the fuckin’ fabulous Killjoys, are ya?”

“Yes,” Gerard snapped. “Let go of my brother.”

“Which one’s this one, then?” the girl asked. She glanced at the gun and smirked, tugging at his hair until he tilted his head back. “You’ve got a cute lil’ snake on your gun. Answer me. You the one they call Kobra Kid?”

“Yes,” Mikey said, teeth clenched together.

“Well I’ll be,” the girl said. She let Mikey go and stepped off his legs. “Didn’t think I’d find a zonemasher so easy. Chimp said he just put out the call less than a blink ago, this is a right fuckin’ dayglo moment.”

“DJ Hot Chimp?” Frank asked, putting Ghoul back in her holster.

“Of-fucking-course,” the girl said, watching Frank handle his gun. “Green gun, pretty as a crash queen, and slow as a fuckin’ Drac. You must be Fun Ghoul.”

Ray barked out a laugh. “She’s got you nailed, Ghoul,” he said.

“And you’re right as acid rain, you must be Jet Star,” the girl said, grinning. She offered her hand to Frank, who took it. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jenny. Sorry about your stickman, I think I mighta poked at his pride.”

Mikey grumbled as he got to his feet but did nothing more than brush off his elbows before he was back to his old glowery self. “Gimme my gun.”

“Geez, impatient,” Jenny said. “And no fuckin’ manners.” She licked her lower lip and then tossed the gun high in the air. Mikey scrambled to catch it before it hit the ground, and if Frank hadn’t been paying attention, he would have missed Jenny taking the opportunity to try and kick out at Frank’s shins.

“No-uh, missy,” Frank said, leaping back. “I fucking invented that trick.”

“It was worth a try,” Jenny said, with a shrug. “Now, I gave you old mash-head back, you gotta give me something in return.”

“Or what?” Gerard asked. He was clearly still grumpy about Mikey being held hostage by a little kid. She was a punk-runner if Frank’d ever seen one though, and one that kicked _ass_. 

“Or I’ll shoot you through the head, an’ when you wake up, I’ll shoot you again.” Jenny beamed. “Your shinyshots are rigged up to say yes to all the girls, I bet.”

“Why do you keep calling Kobra a...what, zonemasher?” Ray asked. There were stars in his one eye: he was clearly already planning out all the playdates that Grace and Jenny would have together when they got her back.

“It’s fuckin’ outerzone slang for a medic,” Mikey muttered. “I’ve been called worse.”

“I need a stitch-’em-up for a pal, we’re stayin a while west. You want, I’ll drive you right to ‘im. You don’t want, I’ll knock you out, drag you there behind your bike. Your choice.”

Gerard’s lips tightened, but Mikey tilted his head to the side just a bit, and Gerard sighed. “Fine, we’ll follow.”

“You ride a bike?” Mikey asked.

“I ride lots of bikes,” Jenny said, smirking. “Y’all follow my lead and don’t step on the scorpion.”

“Wait,” Mikey said, when Jenny marched over to Jezebel and hopped on. “But.”

“Hel _lo_ ,” Jenny said, looking back at them. She was so light that the bike just sat, propped up by its kickstand, even with her on it. “You guys wanna get going or are you gonna stand around and talk all day? Someone gimme a push!”

“We’re not seriously going to follow her, are we?” Gerard asked Mikey, voice low as he glared at Jenny. “She could have killed you. And step on the scorpion? We don’t even know what that _means_.”

“That’s _my_ bike,” Mikey whispered.

Jenny cleared her throat and Ray shrugged, going over to the bike, the kickstand of which he helped kick up. Frank just snickered at Gerard and Mikey’s silent eyebrow argument, which went on until Jezebel roared to life. “Hey!” Mikey shouted, at Ray. “Don’t help her steal my bike!!”

“Too late!” Ray said, pointing to the AM. “Come on, let’s go, she’s getting away!”

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Mikey spat, kicking the ground before they all piled into the car. Gerard shoved the AM into gear and stepped on it, speeding after the white bike that was almost receding into the distance. “Can’t you drive faster?” he asked, looking between the white dot on the horizon and his brother.

“Don’t need to yell at me,” Gerard muttered. 

“You are way too attached to that bike,” Frank said.

Mikey huffed out a breath. “It’s not the _bike_.”

Frank saw Gerard raise his eyebrow in the rearview mirror.

“Well, okay, it’s partially the bike. But, also.” He pressed his lips together and opened his mouth a few times before speaking. “What if this kid’s parent is the one who’s injured? Man, why do I have to be the one who’s always getting attached to patients? And _don’t_ bring up the bird, motherfucker,” he snapped, pointing at Gerard, who shook his head all innocent-like.

“I swear, with you two it’s always like watching a TV show in Crow chirps,” Ray said. “Nobody even brought up a bird.”

“You’re the one who stopped the car, don’t even fucking pretend it was all me,” Mikey said, ignoring Ray.

Gerard snorted, glancing back at Ray. “Mikes here, golden-hearted boy that he is, made me pull over about five minutes after we got the AM, because he saw, like, a fucking half-dead bird by the side of the road.”

“ _Made_ ,” Mikey spat. “Fuck you. I said ‘Oh a bird’ and you said ‘WHERE’. Fuck you times a million.”

Gerard laughed. “Fuck you times _infinity_. Anyway, Mikes stitched its wing back on right there, in the middle of zone fucking 2, and then, _then_ , he made us take it back to the diner.” Gerard nodded. “It wasn’t even me, fuck you.”

“Not the one who had fucking tears in my eyes like a baby what got his candy stolen,” Mikey sneered. “All, ‘Mikes, we can’t just leave him here’.”

“I meant take him back to his nest!” Gerard said. “Not to the diner!”

“Find a bird nest in the middle of the desert?! Yeah, I’m the dumb one here,” Mikey muttered, rolling his eyes. He fell silent as they slowly caught up to the white bike, which was going way faster than Frank had thought a little girl could ride.

Frank exchanged a look with Ray when no more of the story seemed to be forthcoming. “And?” Ray prompted finally.

“And what?” Gerard asked, frowning vaguely as Jenny turned down a side road.

“What do you mean ‘and what’? What happened to the bird?” Frank asked.

“It flew away, do you not know what birds are?” Mikey asked, lip curled like Frank was an idiot for not knowing the end of the story. “You see, they’ve got these wings, right, and they use them to go up in the air and shit.”

“He let it flop around the diner for a week but then it healed and it just flew off one day when we opened the door,” Gerard said. At least one of the brothers understood the need to elaborate.

“Fucking rad-bird, left scratches in the tables that glowed for _weeks_ ,” Mikey said, his words dissolving into giggles at the end.

“Yeah, wasn’t it was like a crowdor or some shit, like an unholy combination between two birds that crashed together when they dropped the first of the Z-bombs?”

“Oh,” Mikey said, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. “Yeah, totally.”

“You guys are no fun,” Frank complained, leaning back in his seat. “Finish the end of your stories properly for once. Let someone else in on your jokes.”

“No, I think it’s cute,” Ray said, chuckling. “It’s like you two are an old married couple.”

Gerard and Mikey made the same face, like they were about to throw up, which just made Ray laugh harder. Frank scowled. “Shut up, dick,” he said, punching Ray’s shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s gross,” Gerard said.

“Too far,” Mikey said.

“Yeah,” Frank said. “It’s me and Gee who do married couple things.”

“And now I am imagining even MORE things I don’t want to, thanks a lot Frank,” Mikey snapped.

“Me too,” Gerard said.

“GROSS,” Mikey shouted, batting at Gerard’s head. Gerard laughed and slapped back. Neither brother landed any kind of a decent, solid hit. Frank shook his head and turned away from the catfight to look out the window.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the closed window, and grimaced at his face. His hair was so long that he had to keep tucking it back behind his ears. It got dirty a lot faster, too, at this length. He tried briefly, to imagine what Gerard or Mikey would look like with short hair. Maybe still long on the top for Mikey, maybe styled up in that really ancient style. He remembered his mom talking about it, pointing at an old photograph she had and telling him about “Elvis” and “greasers”. They were words he was pretty sure she’d made up, but damn if Gerard wouldn’t look good with that kind of hair. And bright red...fuck.

The car slowed, and Frank sat up.

“Is that,” he said, mouth dropping open. Gerard pulled the AM up beside Jez, and all four of them sat and stared for a minute. They’d pulled up in front of a legitimate goddamn _house_. Not a Battery City Apartment, not a station or a shack converted into a miniature BLI Headquarters, but a _house_. It had the whole wraparound patio with a porch swing on it, and it even looked like it had an _attic_. Frank almost expected a little spotted dog to come running from the front door up to the once-white picket fence that surrounded the dirt lawn.

“What the shit, it looks just like all the stories,” Gerard said.

“You guys haven’t seen this place before?” Frank asked, snorting in disbelief when the rest of them shook their heads. “It always surprises me that you’ve never been out here. You were in the zones way longer than me!”

“Thriller told us not to,” Mikey muttered. “When did _you_ come out here?”

Frank shrugged. “As a kid, probably. But, shit, you never ran out here, you never explored the blood beaches? Is that why we’ve never gone past the green line as a gang? The whites don’t even come out this far, we coulda run for safety so many times over!”

Mikey and Gerard looked at each other and Mikey cleared his throat. “Thriller said we weren’t supposed to,” Mikey said, but he looked doubtful now.

“I never knew that. Why are we following his orders?” Ray said. “I thought we were our own gang. Separate from the Rats and the Cats and whatever else, and that’s why we’ve been out in the zones this whole time instead of inside BC.”

“When we were starting up, I guess we were under Thriller’s guidance,” Gerard said, shoving his glasses up his forehead to rest in his hair. The nose pieces of his sunglasses were probably getting tangled in all the grody knots Gerard no doubt had in his stiff locks of hair. “He said that until we were ready, we shouldn’t cross into the Wolf zones. I mean, we did: we’ve been over here trading, you two were there for some of that, but Thrill said --”

“-- not to spend the night,” Mikey finished.

“You have been to the beaches though, right?” Frank asked. “Seen our big orange sun setting on the choppy waves?”

“Yeah, shut up. Just cos me and Kobra were too busy _fighting evil_ to be prancing around with no cares, having picnics along the shore with a bunch of stupid namby pamby people who also have no problems, doesn’t mean I haven’t fucking been there,” Gerard muttered.

Frank glared at Gerard. Prancing around. If only that’s what Frank had been doing pre-Killjoys. “ _You_ shut up.”

“Save the snappy comebacks for the DJ,” Mikey said.

Jenny had already hopped off the bike and disappeared behind the front door of the house by the time they got out of the car, and Mikey smacked Frank on the back of the head.

“What was that for?” Frank shouted, rubbing the back of his head.

“For making us waste time in the car talking about our _feelings_.”

“D told him we were coming, didn’t he?” Ray asked, while Frank took to eyeing Mikey darkly. He sidled over to stand behind Gerard’s left shoulder and kicked some dust at Mikey, who was already at Gerard’s right, hands tucked into his pockets. Ray stayed behind them, watching their backs.

“I think so,” Gerard said. He sniffed and tucked a stray strand of red behind his ear. “Ghoul, stop kicking dust at Kobra.”

Their hands flew to their guns when a _gorilla_ emerged from the house. Frank would have happily accepted someone in a full-body rebreather, but one that happened to be wielding two very large rifle-shaped guns in their direction made him wary enough to have Ghoul up and pointed before the gorilla had the time to take a second step. “Ah, ah,” the gorilla said, its voice not muffled by the suit at all. “Guns down, Killjoys. I _was_ assuming that you were coming in peace, but y’all have your weapons pointed at me so I don’t trust what the broadcasts said no more.”

“Doctor Death-Defying sent us,” Gerard said, his own hand steady on Poison. He looked really young, with the hair pushed out of his eyes, but his eyes were cool and focused when Frank dared to glance over for a second. “And you had your guns out first.”

“Oh, pshaw,” Chimp said, tilting his masked head to the side. “Details, details.”

“Look,” Gerard said. “We don’t want to fight. We’re just here for some information.”

“Oh, I know all about the good Doctor. But the intel you want’s gonna cost you a pretty price. What’ve you got to trade, huh?”

“Kobra’s medical expertise,” Gerard said, tilting his chin up. “Heal the injured runner you’ve got behind your doors.”

“That’s good,” Chimp said, “but not great. Got anything more? How’s about I keep one of you while the rest traipse off to the location we hear your Grace is being stashed at?”

Ray growled behind them, and Gerard reached back a hand, presumably to placate the man. “If they’re keeping her anywhere smart, all of us are going,” Gerard said.

“Even if it means the four of you get your brains picked apart by the big man upstairs? I’d keep the pretty one safe for ya. Got some dresses might fit him.”

“I have a name,” Mikey muttered.

Chimp laughed. “Oh, you’re a funny one. I wouldn’t dream of separating the infamous siblings, Kobra, don’t you worry your fine little head about it. No, I mean the one on the other side of you, Party. The one they want _back_.”

Gerard didn’t say anything to that, and Frank, fairly certain that Chimp wasn’t going to shoot them, stood up from where he’d crouched down. “Quit objectifying me, you’re all a bunch of dicks. We have fucking gender equality already, motherfuckers. Party,” he said, turning to the man. “Doesn’t matter what they want, okay? If they think they can keep me, they’d best put me in a fuckin’ full body cage.”

Chimp chuckled. “Fine. I won’t ask for goods, then,” he said.

“Then what _do_ you want?” Gerard asked, still looking at Frank.

“Doc told me that y’all have got a passel of quick reflexes on you, good for fast shooting and high tailing,” Chimp stroked the fur around his face in what Frank imagined was a thoughtful manner. “You know. We been awfully bored out here lately. How’s about we make a trade-like deal for a one on one shooting match, eh? That and Kid’s healing touch...we could use a little entertainment out here. That sound like a good trade to you?”

“Not really,” Gerard said.

“Well then you can go on your merry way and never find your lost angel,” Chimp said, making a shooing motion toward the desert.

Ray cleared his throat. “Fine,” Gerard said after a minute, eyes hard on Frank before he turned back to Chimp, folding his arms across his chest. “We’ll do it.”

“Great,” Chimp said. He backed up and pressed something beside the frame of the door that sent a bell chime ringing throughout the house.

The topmost window opened and a woman poked her head out. Her hair was short and black, cropped close to her head in a tight bob. Her eyes were dark, but her grin was wide. “ _なんだ?_ ”

“Gogo, would you come down here for a second?” Chimp asked. “I got a quartet wants to contest your aim.”

The woman laughed, louder and brighter than the bell. “ _そ ですか._ ”

“Yes,” Chimp said, chuckling. “They think they can shoot faster’n you, can you believe it?”

The woman said a smaller string of harsher sounds that Frank could have sworn sounded like “Baka”, and withdrew her head.

Mikey twitched and Gerard grumbled under his breath. “What do you want now?”

“I wanna ask what kind of system he’s got rigged up in his suit,” Mikey muttered. “Speakers and mics and shit, must be good if we can hear it so clear.”

“You’re such a fuckin’ nerd,” Gerard muttered.

The front door opened again and the woman stepped out. She was shorter than Frank would have thought from her radio broadcasts, but he wasn’t that tall either, so he guessed it must even itself out somewhere along the line.

“News A Gogo,” Gerard said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hai,” Gogo said, waving one hand while her other drew a black gun from the holster at her thigh.

Ray snickered. “Sorry,” he said when Gogo glared at him. “I’m just, I’m seriously a huge fan, and you’re really fucking funny. Like, all the time.”

Gogo grinned then. “Hai,” she repeated, and then tapped the barrel of her gun, raising an eyebrow at Chimp.

“Jenny set up cans in the back,” Chimp said. “Killjoys, name your best shooter.”

Frank pulled Ghoul back. He was about to put her in her holster, because Gerard was their leader and he’d been in the zones longest, but Gerard’s hand settled on _Frank’s_ head. “That’d be Ghoul,” he said.

“Me?” Frank asked, straightening up. He could feel his face splitting into a grin when Gerard nodded. Half of his mouth didn’t really want to cooperate, and he was probably drooling a bit on the dead side, but Gerard thought he was their best shooter. Which, really, Frank wasn’t going to _argue_ or anything. The rest of them were definitely second best, but they’d all been running for so much longer than him. It was still a surprise whenever they picked him for something, really.

“The little guy?” Chimp asked. “Are you sure, Party Poison? That one, the tiny one that’s drooling on his own shirt?”

“It’s only a little bit of drool,” Gerard said, grimacing when Frank wiped his mouth off on his sleeve. “He went one on one with a Blackbird, cut him some slack. He’s our man.”

Chimp shook his head. “Whatever you say, Killjoy. Follow me.” News led the way, through the prickly overgrown underbrush around the house and into what looked like a seriously fucking normal backyard for the zones. This whole place was surreal, with a little brown doghouse and a shed. This whole place looked like it had been taken straight out of a fairy tale.

“You got ten cans,” Chimp said, pointing at the fence where a series of tin cans were set up. “You both start at the same time. Fastest shooter wins.”

“Don’t fuck this up,” Ray muttered.

“Remember, we gotta get Grace back,” Mikey said.

Frank rolled his eyes and loosened up his arms. “You guys are really fucking supportive, you know that?”

Gerard waved the two of them off and then stepped forward. “You’ll win,” he said, and he sounded so fucking sure that Frank thought he might melt a little bit.

“Right,” Frank muttered. The weight of Fun Ghoul in his hand was familiar and solid, and when he looked down at her, she grinned right back at him, her smile the zig-zag mouth of the ghoul logo.

“You ready, Fun Ghoul?” Chimp asked, when Frank had advanced to stand a few feet away from Gogo, facing the cans. The woman turned to him, smiled politely, and bowed.

“She’s ready,” Chimp said.

“Yeah, I got that,” Frank muttered. “Charge before or after the start?”

Gogo pointed at her own gun and mimed pulling the top back. “Yeah,” Frank said, patting Ghoul. “Now or when we start.”

“How about now,” Chimp said, chuckling. “That way you’ll at least get one shot in before Gogo beats your ass.”

“Ha ha,” Frank muttered, but he charged Ghoul anyway. Feeling her humming in his hands was soothing. Familiar. It was nice that everyone had so much faith that Frank could win this little contest, but his heart felt like it was running a mile a minute. He wasn’t sure he could shoot straight, let alone quick and with anything resembling accuracy.

“Are you ready?” Chimp asked. “You can back out any time, Fun Ghoul.”

Frank raised Ghoul and glared at the first tin. “You can shut the fuck up any time, Hot Chimp.”

“Your little man has a big mouth,” Chimp said, and then “GO.”

Frank pulled the trigger. As he pulled Ghoul back to prime her again, he heard the devastating sizzle of News shooting her second tin.

Fuck. They needed this win, the four of them, needed to get Grace back and prove that they were meant to be alive, that they were worth the chance they’d been given. And apparently Frank needed to be the one to make their first victory a reality.

Frank let out his breath and let go.

It was almost dizzying, letting himself slam headfirst into the person he was during a battle, into _Fun Ghoul_ and away from everything that kept _Frank_ tied down. Ghoul saw down the barrel of his gun and shot without needing to aim; his body found the next target based on its position to the last. If he shot fast enough he only had to recharge every three shots instead of after each one. In the background he could feel tins falling to the ground, holes bored through them with the burning sword of laser fire.

Fun Ghoul didn’t care to stop or blink, he just kept his feet planted firmly on the ground. This battle, fought without human casualty, was a necessary step and nothing more. He timed his shots along with the pounding bassline of his heart. He could hear blood rushing in his ears, in the cut on his face, along the spirals of the rose on his elbow. Where Frank would have paused to check his adversary’s progress, Fun Ghoul snapped off his last shot and turned without a second thought to shoot Newsagogo’s last tin off the shelf before she could even aim at it.

Behind him, Frank’s peers let out their collective breath, but he turned again, priming Ghoul as he did, and shot the ground at Chimp’s feet before pointing his gun at the gorilla’s face.

“Enough,” Frank said. He was the fucking Fun Ghoul, and he was tired of entitled zonerunners and their pansy-ass rules. “No more games. We’re not asking for information so we can go buy a fucking bouncy castle or a handful of greens. We need this intel to save a little ten-year-old girl because she’s everything BLI stands against. And if you don’t stop fucking around, I will shoot you between your dead gorilla eyes and take the information from your computer for myself.”

Chimp raised his hands in surrender. “You won the contest, Ghoul, I’m going to give you what you need.”

“Now,” Frank snapped. “You know I won’t miss.”

“Lower your gun, Fun Ghoul,” Newsagogo said.

“Fuck you,” Frank said, glaring at the woman. She had her gun pointing at him, but Frank was fairly sure he could shoot Chimp and her before dying, and then he’d just come back to life if either of them managed to clip him in any remotely vital spot. “I get that maybe you guys get bored out here, but we are not your toys to play with. We don’t belong to anybody.”

News sighed and lowered her gun. “And neither are we obliged to hand off any information to you without the promise of compensation. As selfless as your actions may be, we too risk our lives every day in pursuit of selfless goals. Do you think that we hack and decode company transmissions for fun?” She held up her hand when Chimp started to talk and smiled kindly at Frank. “There’s no point in us working against one another, since we are both working towards the same goals.”

Frank let out a measured breath but nodded. “No more games,” he said.

News shook her head. “There is no time to play if I am correct about who you are looking for.”

“It’s real nice that everyone’s bein’ nice but it would be really fuckin’ nice if someone in a red fuckin’ jacket could get their slow fuckin’ ass into this house and fix my brother up,” Jenny shouted from inside the house.

“Right,” Mikey muttered, and slunk off, probably to get his fancy-ass med kit from the car.

Frank tucked Ghoul back into her holster and turned around to see Gerard and Ray standing awkwardly behind him.

“So,” Gerard said, looking at Frank almost nervously before he smiled like a crazy person at News. “You, uh. You speak English pretty good.”

Ray elbowed him in the ribs.

“Ow,” Gerard hissed. “What?”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Ray muttered.

“Isn’t he your leader or sommat,” Chimp said.

“Leader schmeader,” Frank said.

“Guys, stop undermining my authority,” Gerard muttered.

“Authority schmothority,” Frank said.

Ray nodded. “Nice one.”

“Right,” Chimp said. “Well, how’s about y’all get in here and we take a look at the info we got on your little Grace, huh? Get you outta the sun. Think we got some equipment what might be useful where y’all are gonna be goin’.”

“Which is....where?” Gerard asked.

Chimp snorted. “Into the belly of the beast.”

**A Very Killjoy Christmas Interlude**

Frank used to celebrate the holidays on his own. He usually went to the nearest dive, slammed back four of whatever festive chasers Rip had concocted, and then he’d stagger out before the light of dawn and tag the walls with whatever shitty paint he’d managed to trade for. The walls of the city, so bare and pale, were too close to what his skin had felt like when he’d really woken up, fresh out of Battery Towers.

The city was too empty, too inhuman, too _grey_.

So one year, Frank had stomped down to Scarecrow Square where the Crows convened to change shifts, blood warmed by Rip’s Kwanza Fireballs, and he’d painted a huge tree, like one of the ones he’d seen in the old-timey storybooks. He’d made it big, had used a ladder and everything, and he’d just barely squeaked out the star on the top when the Crows had showed up for the shift change and he’d had to make a run for it.

He’d spent the rest of the night running, from broken buildings to the tunnels, until he ended up back where he’d started. By daybreak, efficient Scarecrow hands had already scraped away the greens and yellows and had painted the wall over with the much more traditional grey, but a week later, Hat Trick had shown up at Thriller’s newest wave, boasting a photograph of Frank’s monstrous creation. Amid the grins and backslaps of his semi-adoptive family, which he had mostly lived for back then, he’d thought that the night alone in the bowels of the city had mostly been worth it.

 

*

 

It wasn’t until the end of the year rolled around again that Frank’s fingers remembered their former itch for paintbrushes and spray canisters. By that time, though, a new sort of tradition was in full swing at the diner, and it all but wiped the need to paint from Frank’s mind.

The Killjoys took their created familial traditions very seriously. Frank had been with them for Halloween, when Party Poison had gone all out. The man had decorated the diner in blacks and oranges, but a proximity alarm had meant that they’d spent the rest of the day running and drinking the chasers Kobra had swiped from Thriller’s stash. They’d traded ghost stories around a blazing flare after Grace had gone to sleep, tales of people they’d once known, of vampires and scarecrows, of the monsters that kept princesses in high towers, and even if they didn’t know the holiday’s significance for Frank, he’d thought it was the best birthday he’d had in years.

These, their Christmas traditions, were... different.

“Out!” Grace shouted, when Frank walked into the dining room one day, innocently looking for some beans or puppy chow. She was at one of the little tables with Jet Star, and she looked _furious_ for reasons that Frank could not fathom. “Close your eyes and get out!”

“What!” Frank said, clapping a hand over his eyes. “What’s wrong? What did I do?”

“You’ll see, you’ll see, you’ll SEE,” Grace yelled, shoving at him with her little hands.

Frank clipped the doorway with his shoulder trying to escape. He dropped his hand when he was safely in the hallway, and then he jumped about a foot in the air when the first thing he saw was Party Poison, skulking behind the door.

“Yeah, so don’t go in there,” Party drawled.

“What the fuck are you _doing_ there,” Frank breathed, trying to convince his heart that it was okay if it wanted to beat at a normal pace or whatever.

Kobra popped his head out of the door to his room, which was just a few inches away from Party. He was frowning. “Trying to see what our presents are, obviously,” he said.

“Is that what they’re doing in there?” Frank asked. “Wrapping presents?” He frowned at Party, who was glaring at the door like if he stared for long enough, he might develop x-ray vision and be able to see through the solid wood.

“Yes, obviously,” Party muttered.

“Did you see anything when you were in there,” Kobra said, his face blank. “Fuck, Party, I told you we should have let him know this was what was going on. Motherfucker, we could have sent him in on a whole subterfuge mission.”

“Shut the fuck up; I have a plan,” Party said.

“ _What_ plan?! You’re so shitty at Christmas plans it isn’t even _funny_.”

“Okay, no,” Frank said, holding up a hand to stop the mindless bickering. “I didn’t know we were supposed to get each other presents. Did you guys get me something?” He was going to be highly embarrassed if they had. And he would show his embarrassment by punching every single one of them.

“No, _obviously_ ,” Party muttered.

“Jet gets the gifts,” Kobra said. “Grace helps. Be ready to be put to shame with their generosity. Fucker, seriously. He could have gone in and snooped! You’re such an _asshole_. I’m going to go work on my plan.”

“ _Your_ plan, fuck,” Party snapped. “What is it, shoot Ghoul in the ass and send him in again?”

Kobra looked guilty. Frank felt highly offended. “No,” Kobra said eventually.

“Yeah fucking right,” Party muttered. His frown had deepened into a scowl. “Just wait until tonight, we’ll get those sneaky motherfuckers.”

“Did Jet get himself a present?” Frank asked.

“No, we got him something,” Kobra said. “But pretty much he’s the best at this kind of thing. He gets _real_ presents. And he finds them months in advance and they’re always perfect and I want to fucking _beat him_ and figure out what it is this year so I don’t feel so bad about what we got for him.”

“We used to do Christmas back in Battery,” Party said. “But we just got each other socks, so.”

“Until we were off the pills,” Kobra said. “Then we got each other vodka.” The two high-fived each other without looking.

“You didn’t get Jet vodka, did you?” Frank asked. “Because I’m not sure he would appreciate the sentiment.”

“No,” Kobra said, snorting.

“We got him socks,” Party said. He rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Duh,” Kobra said.

Frank tried to think about what he’d seen in the dining room. He hadn’t even been able to catch a glimpse whatever Jet and Grace had been wrapping, but he thought it was probably much better than socks. “Yeah, I think we’re probably fucked, then,” Frank said.

“Clean socks are a commodity out here,” Party muttered. “It’s an awesome gift.”

“They’re only precious if you're an idiot and you don’t wash your current socks,” Frank muttered. Party kicked him in the shin. 

“We gotta find out what he got us,” Kobra said. “Maybe we can do a dump run before tomorrow. You know, snipe off those lamer Dracs at the cash-n-go in 2 and get our hands on a new blaster or something.”

“Let’s not make any rash decisions,” Party said. “Also, don’t do anything until after tonight. Everybody promise right now.”

“Fine,” Kobra said. “I mean, it isn’t like I have anything better to do, like inventing a cure for rad sickness.”

“Go work on your creepy medical experiments,” Party said. “Ghoul, don’t do anything stupid.”

“You’re all insane,” Frank said.

 

*

 

Grace came out of the main dining room within a few minutes and banned Frank and the sulking Party Poison from the diner, which was just as well because the Trans AM’s coolant system was in serious need of an overhaul. Party skulked off to shoot things behind the diner, but Frank ignored him, lost in the easiness of mechanical workings. He spent what seemed like an hour under the hood, so by the time Grace came in to get him for dinner, he had to grip the car for stability.

“Ghoul, you haven’t eaten today, have you,” Grace scolded, her little hands balled into fists where they were hanging at her sides.

“No,” Frank said, swiping at his eyes. “I had a.... I mean, when I woke up... I ate something, I’m sure of it.”

“Have not, liar liar,” Grace said, shaking her head. “Come in before you faint. Also your face is filthy.” She pointed at him and then disappeared back into the diner.

“You’re the one who told me to stay out here,” Frank grumbled. He threw down the cloth he’d been using to try and wipe his face off: it had been clean at the start, but now it was almost entirely covered in oil.

“And I’m not going to _faint_ ,” Frank said, following her in. A hand yanked him into a dark room, and a hand clapped over his mouth to stifle the yelp of surprise he made.

“Shh,” someone hissed in his ear. “I’m going to lift my hand if you promise to be very quiet, Fun Ghoul.”

“Yeah,” someone else whispered. “Move and you die.”

“No, fuck,” the first person hissed. Party Poison, then, and not a creepy talking Scarecrow or something. “Kobra, we’re not going to kill him.”

“Are you sure?” Kobra whispered. “I was hoping that was going to be your Christmas gift to me.”

Frank pried Party’s hand off his face. “What the fuck,” he whispered. “Are you two working on your fucking serial killer skills?”

“No,” Party said, at the same time as Kobra’s, “Yes.”

“Well, you’re really shitty at it,” Frank hissed. “Is this the fucking closet?”

Kobra snickered, and then made an _oof_ sound. “Don’t fucking elbow me, motherfucker,” he snapped.

“Shut _up_ ,” Party snapped back. The hand holding Frank’s mouth dropped, and Kobra hissed again. It sounded like the brothers were scuffling. Frank shook his head.

“I’m leaving,” he announced.

“No!” Party hissed. “We need you, Ghoul.”

“What for?” Frank asked. His stomach was so far past the point of growling that he thought he might even try and munch on Party’s leather jacket if he was forced to stay in this closet for too much longer.

“Backup,” Kobra said.

“Jet Star’s crafty,” Party added. “Last year he used chloroform.”

“ _My_ chloroform,” Kobra grumped.

“Yeah, well, he used it on _me_. Stop being so goddamn mad about that,” Party muttered.

“I don’t care enough about seeing what present Jet Star got me to stick around and potentially get chloroformed, just by the way,” Frank said.

“You won’t,” Party said.

“Probably,” Kobra said.

“Just stand outside his door, okay,” Party said.

Frank sighed. “And then I can go eat?”

“Maybe. Okay, I know for a fact that Jet and Grace are eating right now, which buys us a few minutes,” Party whispered, hustling them out the door pushing them all towards Jet’s room. “He keeps the presents because he is the only one who won’t peek.”

“Stay right here,” Kobra said, pointing to the ground. He and Party traded a look, and then they went in. Frank leaned back against the frame, listening for the thump that would mean they’d fallen to the floor, unconscious.

What happened instead sounded like: _Shhhk, fwip, “what the ACTUAL fuck,” rustle, “GOD FUCKING DAMMIT.”_

And then Party said: “Ooh, coffee.”

“Ghoul,” Kobra snapped. “Get the fuck in here!”

“Uh,” Frank said. He didn’t really want whatever had happened to them to happen to him. Whatever it was. “Are you sure?”

Kobra sighed. “Yes, I’m fucking sure. The trap has been sprung.”

“Kobra,” Party said. “Coffee.”

Frank opened the door. The brothers were tangled up with each other and... hanging from the ceiling.

In a giant net.

“What the hell,” Frank said.

“Stop _elbowing_ me,” Kobra snapped. “I can see the coffee!”

“Ooh, and cookies,” Party said. His face was smushed into the net, and it looked like his legs were somewhere behind Kobra. One of his arms was dangling through the webbing, and he seemed to be reaching in vain towards something on the desk. “Where did those come from?”

“This is the worst,” Kobra whined. “Ghoul, help us out!”

Frank looked at the rope that would release the two from the net. And then he looked at the plate of cookies. And licked his lips. “In a minute,” he said.

“This is the worst,” Kobra whined again.

Frank was halfway through the plate of what had turned out to be cookies made of _puppy chow_ (dinner AND dessert in one!) when the door opened and Grace stormed in.

“I knew it!” she crowed, pointing at Kobra, who was thoroughly scowling. “Did you peek?” she asked Frank, eyes narrowed.

Frank swallowed the mouthful of cookie. “I don’t actually know where the presents are,” he admitted and shoved another cookie in his mouth.

“FUCK,” Kobra shouted. “Party, we shoulda asked him to look. They’re under the bed, Ghoul! Go, go, go! You can take her, she’s only ten!”

Frank shrugged. “Eh. I like it better this way, with you hanging in the net, not getting any rewards for your pathetic attempts to ruin Christmas for everyone.”

Party sniffed, his eyes wide on Frank. “Coffee?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

“Oh, right,” Frank said. He picked up the small cup, poured the greyish liquid into it and brought it over to Party’s dangling arm.

Party looked really determined for a full minute, but then he shook his head. “Nope, my arm’s super dead. Fatass here is sitting on my shoulder blade. Are my fingers still there? Can anyone confirm that for me?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Kobra sighed. He was still scowling, but his eyes were closed now.

“You’ll have to wait ‘til you’re down to drink it then,” Frank said. He met Party’s sad eyes and lifted the cup up to his own lips. The still-warm liquid made him sigh in delight: coffee was hard to find in the zones.

“Not fair,” Party muttered.

“At least you weren’t chloroformed this year. How hard is it to not peek, huh?” Grace asked. “Anyway, next year we’re using lasers, so don’t do it.”

 

*

 

That night, they all gathered in Jet’s room after he’d gone to bed, to decorate his hair like the Christmas trees of old. Kobra had produced a bag of what looked like the lids of tin cans and sad stars cut from paper. Party had started threading the stars onto Ray’s many strands of hair, and Kobra had extended a bunch of thin strips of what looked like aluminum sheeting to Frank.

“Tinsel,” Kobra said. “Just like the stories.”

“This seems like a bad idea. Did you make these?” Frank asked, shrugging before he wrapped the aluminum around Jet’s hair. “What if he wakes up?”

“It is a bad idea,” Party whispered, stepping back to admire the ornaments he’d hung. “But it’s also awesome.”

“Party made the stars,” Kobra whispered, face a mask of concentration as he hung the tin circles.

“And he usually wakes up,” Party whispered, grinning at Frank. They worked quickly, and then Party straightened up to examine their handiwork. “It’s almost perfect. Kobra, want to do the honours?”

“Yes,” Kobra whispered, pumping his fist in victory. “And the Jet Star goes on the very top...”

He’d barely reached out to put the large star-shaped hair clip in just as Jet’s eyes snapped open.

“EVERY FUCKING YEAR,” he roared. Party squeaked and pushed Frank aside, and Kobra tripped over his brother on his way out of the room. Frank was laughing too hard to do much walking, but luckily, Jet only chased them as far as the hall, where they all collapsed in a laughing heap.

“Merry Christmas, Fun Ghoul,” Party said, when they could all breathe again.

“Yeah, Merry fucking Christmas,” Jet grumbled, picking at his hair.

Grace came out of her room then, eyes still squinty with sleep. “You decorated my dad without me?” she cried.

Kobra held out the star. “We didn’t put this on yet.”

“Fuck you,” Jet grumbled, but he bent down and let Grace affix the star to the top of his head. When he straightened up, they all clapped. Party’s elbow was in Frank’s face, but Frank didn’t even care. It was worth it for the long-suffering look on Jet’s face. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“You’re the best,” Grace whispered, wrapping Jet up in a giant hug.

Jet sent her off to her room, and turned to Kobra, Party and Frank. “One of you motorbabies is going to get these out tomorrow or I am going to kill all three of you and feast upon your souls,” Jet announced, trudging back into his room.

Kobra patted Frank’s shoulder, his former grin mostly just implied by the angle of his eyebrows now. “Welcome to the family.”

 

*

 

The presents were Frank’s favourite kind of found smokes, but he found that he more often remembered the other things from his first Christmas with the Killjoys: the net that Grace and Ray had somehow found; the look on Ray’s face when he’d awoken, covered in decorations; and the cookies that Grace had invented just for the occasion. She’d figured out how to rig up the net to catch two grown men, and she’d been the one to build a little solar-powered oven (with Ray’s help), so she could bake her cookies.

The thought of her and her enormous talent wasting away in Battery Towers made Frank’s heart clench as they all sat in DJ Hot Chimp’s kitchen. The man had brought out a bottle of something red the second he’d given them the bad news, but even the burn of the liquid going down his throat did nothing to eclipse Frank’s fear for her.

Mikey cleared his throat, looking like he might throw up. “So we’re going in, then.”

“Looks like it,” Gerard muttered, glaring at his glass. His brother swallowed, fingers dancing nervously on his own cup before Gerard shot him a look that calmed his anxious motions a bit. “The towers, I can’t even fucking believe it.”

“I can’t believe we have to go _back_ to that fucking place,” Ray muttered. He looked at Frank, grimacing, and Frank’s hand flew to the nape of his neck where he knew the raised edges of the scar were there to meet him.

 _And we’re not coming out_ , Frank thought, but he didn’t say it. Everyone knew, anyway.

Chimp poured them all another round. “I still say that you could leave Ghoul behind. It would be safer.”

“And he’s right, you know,” News said, holding her glass out as well. “You could fit into his dresses.” Out of his chimp suit, the DJ was only an inch taller than Frank. His brown hair was buzzed so close to his head that Frank doubted a dress would really make him look all that feminine.

“And you know the black one would look real good, on him,” Chimp said, dark eyes appraising.

“The one with the sweetheart neckline,” News said, nodding. “Definitely.”

Frank looked away from Gerard, whose eyes were dark, and folded his arms across his chest. “Would everybody please stop picturing me in lady clothes? It’s making me uncomfortable.”

“Clothes aren’t gendered,” Chimp snorted. “You said so yourself earlier, ‘bout as much.”

“Well, still,” Frank muttered. “And it doesn’t matter what you say. I’m going. Family sticks together, so shut the fuck up about dresses.” He looked up at Gerard, who nodded and slipped his hand into Frank’s under the table.

Everyone was quiet for a moment, looking at their glasses, before Chimp raised his in the air. “To your last night on earth,” he said. “Let’s make it a good one.”

“To the Fabulous Killjoys,” News said. “May you live forever.”

Gerard twisted his mouth to the side, nodding at Ray. “And to Grace.”

“She’s probably taking down Crows as we speak,” Mikey said.

“I’ll drink to that,” Frank said.

They clinked their glasses together and downed the firey liquid. One for all and all for Grace.

 **Chapter 5**  
There was no big fanfare.

Nobody sang a chorus of hallelujahs; nobody crashed cymbals or banged drums. Nobody said anything at all.

There was just them (breathing, alive), the car (humming, running), and the sound of the arm of the BL/ind toll booth shattering into splinters when Gerard drove the AM right through it.

An alarm had probably been set off when they’d barreled past the two-man guard at the booth, but the Killjoys could only hear the rain that struck the roof of their precious vehicle when they emerged from the cover of the tunnels. Gerard barely glanced for a second in the rear view mirror before they were too far past the barricade to even care.

It took Frank back.

To the first time he drove a car, tires squealing and Thriller shouting obscenities in the passenger seat. 

The class he’d taken with Easy A, which had ended in a spectacular brawl in a courtyard with a handful of A’s overly excitable Wave Head schoolmates.

The time the Trans AM had lost three tires to a gang of scavengers, and Gerard had thrown a fit, leaving the rest of them to neutralize the vicious sons of bitches while he stomped off into the brush like a five-year-old.

And to his first sunset out in the desert, when his feet had still been cut up and his face still bruised but his head clear of pills and pollution. To the way the sky had looked: bright at the edges with its few clouds lit up with fire and gold. Gerard —Party Poison then— had come up behind him with Kobra in a headlock and Grace giggling beside, and they’d passed around a bottle of water, “To Ghoul’s first night as a Killjoy.”

Now, in the front of the car, the brothers were grim and stoic, their faces calm and devoid of anything more than calculations. How long they would have to get in and out once they hit the buildings, how many Dracs they could each take out, how they were going to find Grace, how they were going to get Grace out. To Frank’s right sat Ray, eye patch looking now like it fit under his wild hair, his hand restlessly checking and re-checking his gun.

Frank adjusted the buckles on his forearm, the ones that bracketed his left elbow. DJ had whipped the thin strips of metal out from under his chair, had explained their potential; the rare metal could block transmissions or waves, or. Anything that could interfere with a machine’s ability to pull a trigger.

He was expecting the car to pull up in front of the buildings, but he wasn’t expecting it to happen so _fast_.

Gerard paused for a split second, his hand on the keys, but Ray was the one to say, “This is it, then.”

Mikey breathed out a shaky sigh and Gerard cleared his throat. “Yeah. But remember, uh. Killjoys never die, right? At least. We haven’t so far.”

“Bet _they_ fuckin’ know that,” Frank muttered, meeting his leader’s narrowed hazel eyes in the mirror.

“Well,” Gerard said.

“Quit dragging it out,” Mikey muttered, and got out. “I’m gettin’ fuckin’ wet over here.”

“Right,” Gerard muttered. “One for all and all for one, etcetera. Oh, and. Kill everyone you meet.”

“Stop talking,” Frank said, catching up and priming his gun as he fit himself between Mikey and the side of the bridge.

Ray was the first one to lift up his gun as the Crows by the door to the first building leaped up from behind the cement blocks they’d been using as hiding places. Frank saw the motion in his peripherals and moved accordingly. He let Ray and Mikey take the dopes out in the open, aiming instead straight at the doors, where lights were flashing and a handful of Dracs were milling about behind the glass.

He didn’t count how many worker bees he shot down, he didn’t aim. He didn’t even stop to think about where he needed to go: the buildings were drawing him in like a magnet. He could see the path he needed to follow like it had been painted with neon lights. Behind him, Gerard said, “Where to?”, but Frank was already walking, down a long hall, towards...

He didn’t know. The walls he passed flashed through his mind like he’d been here before, even though he was pretty sure they’d locked him up two buildings over. The floor was telling him _Straight_ , the walls _Right_ , the corner _Fire_. 

When they came across the glass windows of a control room, Frank knew it was the right place before they even saw Grace. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw they hadn’t hurt her. She was just sitting there, pushing a ball around. There were Crows around the room, Dracs in the chairs, watching the monitors more closely than their surroundings. The guns in the Crows’ hands were longer than his, and they probably reloaded faster, but Frank moved before they could even lift their weapons. Mikey was behind him, taking out the second Crow and then the third, and Frank shot the Dracs in the surveillance chairs before they could swivel to process that his presence in this building meant they needed their guns in their _hands._

Gerard rushed to gather Grace in his arms -they’d agreed that BLI shouldn’t know she belonged to Ray-  and Frank put down his still-smoking gun. He looked away, and—

For a moment, he thought he could see himself in the surveillance footage. Not climbing out of a car, but being pushed, being dragged, kicking and screaming, into white halls, white clothes, white pills. For a moment, he saw a pair of black eyes and the glint of a blade-sharp smile.

And then, Mikey shifted, fabric and bone moving in the present. “We’re running out of time,” he said, and Frank snapped back into the now, slapping a hand over the brace on his left arm in a desperate attempt to ground himself.

“Right.” Gerard let Grace go in front of him, glancing at Frank as he followed behind. “Are you—” he said, eyes searching, the start of a question that they didn’t have time to finish.

“Let’s just go,” Frank said, meeting Gerard’s eyes so the man wouldn’t think he was trying to cover for his past sneaking up and hitting him over the head or anything.

“Wait, are we going back the way we came?” Mikey asked, his voice low.

“Is there another way out?” Gerard asked, eyebrows coming together. “Maybe through the...side? Back?”

“Our car’s out front,” Mikey said.

Ray ducked around Grace, eyes on Frank. “There isn’t,” Ray said. “There isn’t another way out. There’s a side and a billion backs, but they’re all past Rest Stations. We’d be dead before we got to the center of the building.”

“And the alarm that we triggered on our way in will have opened at least two of those Crow nests,” Frank said. “So let’s just go. It’s not like we haven’t shot our way out of a mess before.”

“Guys?” Grace asked, when they all nodded. “We gotta go. Come on.”

“Stay in front, Gracie,” Gerard said, as they walked down the hallway, the sharp klaxon of the alarm dull in their ears. “You gotta run as fast as you can when we hit the lobby, okay?”

“You mean we, right?” Grace asked, but her face was stone when she glanced back over her shoulder at them. Frank could see the hesitation in her eyes, the hint of fear, and probably the memory of that day in the desert, when the four of them had fallen like dominoes.

Nobody had the heart to answer her. Scarecrows were coming: Frank could hear the barely-there patter of boots clomping in the halls, coming closer, coming for them.

Then there was no more time.

A shot flew past Gerard’s head and Frank’s feet propelled him into action, spinning him around as he saw Gerard turn. He was firing before he even looked: his shots would hit their marks whether he was consciously aiming or not. The little hallway they’d just come from was overrun by Crows and corpses within seconds. Then there was Korse. 

Frank ducked away from the sizzling fire of Gerard’s gun above him. His feet followed the instincts which were screaming at him to _hide_ , to take cover. He slipped behind a pillar as the lobby flooded with Dracs and Crows and tucked Fun Ghoul to his chest. She was still humming in his hands, still fighting, but the concrete at his back was so solid and cold that he couldn’t do it, couldn’t make himself move.

He could hear the garbled screams of Dracs dying and the hiss of burning flesh. He was going to die whether he was hiding or not. He breathed in through his nose and then moved, letting out the breath as he shot wherever his gun was pointing. He took a quick catalogue of the room between the flashes of his own gun: chaos, chaos, chaos, the brothers standing back-to-back, Ray shooting a trio of Drac, chaos, chaos, Grace.

Alone.

With her hands clapped over her ears and her wide eyes focused on a clump of guards coming _right for her._

Nobody was watching Grace, _why wasn’t anybody watching Grace?_

He ran as quickly as he could, vaulting over a fallen body and skidding on his knees as he shot the Crows heading for Grace. He’d have bruises there if they made it out, but the adrenaline in his veins meant he didn’t feel or care. He ducked away from a fist and punched his gun into the Crow’s heart. As it fell he spun it around, using its limp form as a shield. He took out five more Dracs from behind its cover before it fell, and it wasn’t worth picking it up, not when he had to get Grace _out_. He pushed Grace to her feet, moving her towards the doors.

Ray threw a Crow away from him, eyes now on Grace too, and Frank ushered the girl towards her father. When Ray’s hand touched down on Grace’s shoulder, Frank chanced a look around as he ran with them towards the door.

Gerard was standing with a mask in hand, his thin face lit up by the flashes of Crow guns. Time seemed to slow: Frank felt his foot hit the floor hard, and the recoil of Ghoul’s coverfire; he heard Mikey shout something, “Stop” or “Gee”; and he saw a white head and lace ruffles before he had to turn away. His brain was screaming at him to run away, to run far, to stop shooting, to _give up._

Instead, he stopped. Just for a moment. Just long enough to see the white light travel up the white gun and into Gerard’s white face.

He felt the shot like vibrations in the earth: the fundamental _wrongness_ of something missing from the earth hit him before he heard Mikey roar louder than the sounds of battle, louder than a klaxon, louder than anything he’d ever experienced.

“Party!” Frank heard Grace scream as he ushered her out the door, her small body twisting against his efforts. He shoved her a little more. Why didn’t she understand that she had to get out? The rest of them knew what they were getting into when they came to rescue her. Grace was the only one who mattered. She was the one who needed to get out of this alive. He made a snap decision then, and pushed her as hard as he could before stepping back and pulling the glass door shut.

Grace stopped too, turning to look at Frank, horror in her wide eyes. Frank nodded, just once, and saw Ray glance at him before he grabbed his daughter and pulled her towards the AM, towards the headlights approaching behind their car, towards...

Not here.

Not now.

Somewhere better, maybe. Where the sun shone in the sky and the lights flashing around them were Grace and Ray fighting the Battle of Coyote Hill and the bodies on the ground were cans and dolls, and Gerard could still flash his mouth of tiny teeth at Frank in a familiar grin.

When he turned around, he didn’t look at Gerard, lying on the floor in a crumpled heap like so many Crows around him.

He just looked at the faces that he had to _destroy._

Mikey was still alive when Frank shot at the Dracs around him, but Mikey wasn’t focusing, wasn’t paying enough attention to the scores of gun-toting maniacs around them. He was just emptying his gun at Korse, trying to hit more than the man’s leg, which he’d apparently already clipped if the limp meant anything. Mikey was still shouting, though, long lists of incomprehensible obscenities, and he wasn’t paying attention at _all._

Frank moved then, firing as quickly as he could to cover Mikey's back. He couldn’t waste shots, couldn’t stop to think. It was too easy to sink into autopilot, to let the part of him that never missed look down the barrel of his gun and take the Crows out, one by one. He didn’t even have to reprime: he just had to let go. His vantage point at the door meant he could hit most of the Crows in the head, take out their processing centers before they could figure out which Killjoy was shooting at them. He’d dispatched the Dracs around him when he took a shot to the shoulder, but he barely felt it, didn’t notice anything more than having to shoot with one hand instead of two.

His brain switched from heads to remaining available appendages, his vision tunneling to the point where his shot would hit. Something got in the way of his next heart-shot and, annoyed, he fired at it, hoping it would move. It was only after he took out the Crow he’d originally been aiming for that he realized the thing that had blocked his vision had been _red._

He hesitated, just for a moment, but it was long enough for some pasty-faced Drac to take a lucky shot. When he went down, it felt like he was falling through molasses.

Mikey was on the floor, his angles all wrong, his body too still, his gun too far away.

Korse stepped up to the prone red form and toed it with his boot, an ugly sneer on his face. “Welcome home, Frankie,” he said. “Nice to see you haven’t changed a bit.”

**Author's Note:**

> [SERIES CONTINUES IN PART 3: NIGHT DUST](http://archiveofourown.org/works/365701)


End file.
